A Thousand-Person Ruler's Perspective Chapter 642

Even from dozens of miles away, Yan Qing could imagine the chill of that sword Qi and the wild laughter of Jingliu.

As for Cheng Lingshuang, his master, the Sword God in his eyes, held only a faint yet clear golden glint in her hand—surely, she was still holding that Golden Hairpin she had used to defeat him back then. Clearly a fragile hairpin that would shatter at a casual snap, in her hands it unleashed grand and brilliant sword light, breathtakingly beautiful and overwhelmingly powerful.

Pity that Yan Qing was far away, able to observe this duel only through his imagination.

Yet at close range, the collision of the Golden Hairpin and the ice sword sounded like a continuous, crisp chime of wind chimes, far more fierce and perilous than Yan Qing had imagined.

Clang, clang, clang!

The ice-crystal-like longsword traced densely interwoven trajectories, like a net, or like painting an invisible scroll—that was a terrifying realm where force, speed, and precision were all flawless, embodying not just hard-forged experience, but also natural genius.

Yet no matter how fierce as lightning or how mountain-sweeping that ice sword was, Cheng Lingshuang's response was to swing the hairpin with effortless lightness. Her movements were like an antelope hanging its horns by its-touch-free tracks, her posture like floating catkins drifting on the wind, and amidst the erratic, traceless trajectories, that fragile hairpin formed a water-tight golden bell jar that caused all of Jingliu's countless sword techniques to miss entirely.

What kind of swordsmanship is this? ×2.

Amidst the magnificent sword Qi of their passing brushes, the two women simultaneously posed the question in their hearts.

Jingliu had never seen such ultimate precision in swordsmanship.

As for Cheng Lingshuang, she felt as though the person before her was challenging her common sense.

Their