Sometimes having too many disciples is a real pain in the ass.
Chang'sheng seriously doubted how the main character in those novels he read in his previous life ever managed with dozens, even hundreds of disciples—didn't they get exhausted teaching them how to cultivate? Or weren't they dead tired helping solve their problems?
He honestly couldn't pull it off. Just eleven disciples and he already felt emotionally spent just setting up their special training.
Chang'sheng let out a bitter sigh.
Forget it, forget it. He'd taken them in, after all—no way he could just ignore them, right?
Sure, he was a lazy bum, but being a lazy bum didn't mean shirking responsibility.
Chang'sheng sighed again, then took Blackie out to a stretch of open plain.
This was no ordinary plain.
The moment Blackie stepped in, he could feel a scorching heat burning the surface of his skin, but his Five Organs and Six Orifices felt frozen solid, even his blood started to harden.
