The Su Mansion in Qingyang City was decorated with lanterns and colorful decorations today, and red silk was hung high. It was supposed to be a joyous scene.
However, the atmosphere in the Su family's lobby was strangely stagnant, like the dead silence before a storm.
The guests in the hall were whispering to each other, and their eyes full of contempt, ridicule and sympathy were focused on the thin young man in the center of the hall.
The young man's name was Ling Yun. He was dressed in green clothes that had been washed white, and he was incompatible with the silk and satin guests around him. He stood quietly, but his back was straight, like a weather-beaten javelin that did not fall. He was not a guest, but more like a prisoner who was put on stage to be judged by the whole city.
He lowered his head and glanced at the palm of his hand. The thick callus left by holding the sword for many years was still there, but he could not feel the flow of spiritual energy.
Three years.
For three years, his Qingpin spiritual veins, which he had high hopes for, mysteriously disappeared like the ebbing tide. From a brilliant genius, he was reduced to a mortal waste that everyone could bully.
"Well, back then, Ling Yun was the number one genius in our Qingyang City, and his engagement with Su Qingxue, the eldest daughter of the Su family, was hailed as a match made in heaven. Who would have thought..."
"Isn't that right? The gap between a genius and a loser is worse than falling from the sky. The Su family is so powerful now that they naturally don't want a loser son-in-law."
