Lin Qingfeng stared at the face before him, a face that screamed "Praise me!", and the opening speech he had prepared caught in his throat.
A memory from the past crashed into his thoughts.
How long ago was that?
He remembered looking at those three hundred or so disciples of mixed quality—a pile of Pseudo Spirit Roots and garbage traits—and casually making a complaint.
'It's over.'
'Don't tell me my junior sister actually took that offhand complaint as a supreme directive?'
Lin Qingfeng turned his neck, his gaze sweeping over the dozen or so survivors.
He extended his Divine Sense over them.
Huh?
'Wait, the results aren't actually that bad?'
'It's just that all the ones with Pseudo Spirit Roots are gone. The ones left seem to be promising candidates.'
'The worst among them have Tri-Spirit Roots, and there are even a few with Dual-Spirit Roots. None of them are saddled with a bunch of garbage traits, either.'
