Chen Xiaofan was walking along the road when he suddenly saw someone appear ahead, blocking his way. He looked closely and saw that it was a middle-aged man in a daoist robe, holding a whisk. The man's face was gloomy and his gaze sharp, making Chen Xiaofan instinctively wary.
"Kid, hand over the sword in your hand!" the Middle-aged Daoist said.
At once, anger surged in Chen Xiaofan's heart. He had gone through great difficulty to obtain this sword—how could he possibly hand it over so easily? He replied without any politeness, "Why should I give it to you? I don't even know you!"
The Middle-aged Daoist sneered and threatened, "Hmph, you refuse the toast only to drink the forfeit! If you won't obediently hand over the sword, don't blame this daoist for being rude!" With that, he prepared to seize the sword from Chen Xiaofan.
Seeing this, Chen Xiaofan hurriedly retreated several steps, gripping the hilt tightly and assuming a guarded stance. At the same time, he shouted, "You're utterly unreasonable! In broad daylight, you actually dare to rob someone of their belongings!"
The Middle-aged Daoist laughed dismissively. "Hahaha, do you think that can scare this daoist? Let me tell you, I'm taking that sword today!" As he spoke, he lunged at Chen Xiaofan again.
Chen Xiaofan refused to be outdone and swung his sword, beginning a fierce battle with the Middle-aged Daoist. They traded blows back and forth, neither yielding an inch. For a time, flashes of blades and sword shadows crisscrossed, and even the air around them grew tense.
The battle between Chen Xiaofan and the Middle-aged Daoist was exceptionally fierce. They went back and forth without giving ground, fighting for more than three hundred rounds!
By then, the Middle-aged Daoist was utterly exhausted, his forehead drenched