Return of the Immortal Emperor Daddy

Hei Bama and his companions arrived before Wu Tian, their expressions complex. As powerful figures, they now seemed diminished in the presence of this junior, as if they were a generation his junior. The feeling was unpleasant, but they had to endure it.

At the thought of Wu Tian’s might, they were completely at a loss. However, a saying crossed their minds: the outcome of a game isn’t always decided on the board, but off it. But such matters could not be attempted lightly. A dragon has scales that grow in reverse; touch them, and you die. Who would dare harm those close to Wu Tian unless it was absolutely necessary? That would mean a battle to the death, and they could very well suffer the same fate as Fusang.

In Wu Tian’s presence, their imposing auras were completely extinguished. Now, Wu Tian was the Martial God. Before the Martial God, one had no choice but to bow their head.

"You are all prominent figures in your own right. There is no need to be so restrained in my presence. Feel free to speak your minds," Wu Tian said with a smile.

The group nodded, but inwardly they were cursing. Speak our minds? If we say one wrong word, who knows if you’ll strike us down like you did your past enemies? Wu Tian’s words hadn’t relaxed them at all; on the contrary, they felt even more pressure.

"We would also like a slice of this cake, to have a taste," Hei Bama said. He was the first to speak, an act of commendable courage.

Dragon Country’s Lord of the Four Seas and Xiao Liang were also paying close attention. They hoped Wu Tian would refuse. Given Wu Tian’s disposition, he’s certain to refuse.

But to their surprise, Wu Tian laughed and said, "Agreed!"

What? The Lord of the Four Seas and the others were shocked. Even Hei Bama and the other Western powers were taken aback. Logically, Wu Tian should have refused. Then, we would have used the legendary art of persuasion to convince him. But he just agreed?

"Of course, I have my conditions. You must agree to them; otherwise, it’s impossible," Wu Tian said, his tone suddenly shifting.

Hei Bama and the others nodded. They knew it wouldn’t be so simple. Wu Tian’s words sent their emotions soaring one moment and plummeting the next; this emotional whiplash was becoming unbearable.

"Whatever your conditions, Martial God, please state them," Hei Bama said in a gentlemanly tone. He was a black man, but not a muscular one; instead, he had the air of a scholar or a sage. It was clear he had become such a prominent figure through his own strength, not by chance.

"Good. Listen closely and try not to get so worked up again," Wu Tian said seriously.

Hei Bama and the others felt as if their hearts were bleeding. Though they didn’t know what conditions Wu Tian would propose, they were certain they wouldn’t be simple. But once again, the old saying proved true: when you’re under another’s roof, you have no choice but to bow your head.

"First, no one is to speak of this again." Wu Tian’s tone turned cold, and the very air seemed to grow frigid, making the Western powers shiver violently.

"This is just the first condition. Don’t tell me you can’t even manage something so simple," Wu Tian stated coolly.

Simple? While the others hesitated, Hei Bama had already gritted his teeth and said, "Fine. I agree."

"We agree too." Seeing that Hei Bama had consented, the other powers quickly followed suit. Given the circumstances, what choice did we have?

"Second, there must be equal treatment for all."

Wu Tian’s words were like a knife, sharp and domineering, cutting through the air with pressing authority!

Hei Bama pondered for a moment, then said, "I agree!"

"We also agree," the other powers replied, gritting their teeth as they nodded.

Yet, Wu Tian had his own hidden agenda, one that could only be expressed by a poem:

*In Qingqing Garden, sunflowers glisten with morning dew, awaiting the sun.*

*Yang Chun brings a bounteous grace, and all living things shine with life.*

*I always fear the Autumn Festival’s arrival, when glorious blossoms and leaves turn yellow and fade.*

*A hundred rivers flow east to the sea; when will they ever return west?*

*If one does not strive when young, one will only grieve in old age.*