"It is the way of the Martial World," Hu Gan eventually answered with a shrug, though his defensiveness seemed forced. "The strong eat the weak."
"And yet, you are here, hoping to eat my noodles again," Lin Mo countered smoothly. "Tell me, Hu Gan. How many of your brothers die each year fighting for a few ounces of Star-Forged Iron? How many manuals have been lost because sects would rather burn them than share them? Is that strength? Or is it just a slow, grinding suicide? There's a reason you've dropped the chase for the manual she's carrying, am I correct?"
Hu Gan fell silent. The question struck a nerve. The Crimson Tiger Sect was powerful, yes, but they bled. Every day.
Lin Mo turned to Ling Qiumei. "And you, Miss Ling. Your sect is scattered. You clutch a manual that you cannot even practice because you lack the resources and the peace to comprehend it. You are surviving, but you are not living. Your legacy is dying with you."
