They seemed to have experienced the vicissitudes of life, grown disappointed with the world, and become somewhat cold and ruthless.
Yet, whenever they caught sight of those in hardship or suffering, a trace of pity would unfailingly well up in their hearts, urging them to do something.
Zhao Wujiang was no different. He was neither some saintly savior nor a hypocrite, much less a cold-blooded killer weighed down by countless slaughters.
Chapter 144