Xiang Yang smiled without speaking. He stood tall and straight, his mild, placid demeanor revealing a trace of exceptional poise. He turned a blind eye to the threat of the divine weapon.
No matter how strong the Soaring Dragon Divine Sword was, it was still only a divine weapon. Yet the Qu Xie he had once possessed had been a Peerless Divine Weapon; the gap between the two was immense. Now that he had drained Qu Xie completely and it was no longer of use, why would he fear a mere Soaring Dragon Divine Sword?
Seeing that Xiang Yang remained unmoved by Soaring Dragon, Li Xian's formerly composed and self-satisfied expression darkened considerably. His gaze turned cold. With a flash and a leap, he rushed straight forward, the Soaring Dragon Divine Sword in his hand transforming into a riot of sword light that engulfed Xiang Yang. How Many Flowers Fell in the Dream carried a faint flavor of the Great Dream Heart Sutra.
Generally speaking, when experts fought, they would probe and observe one another, uncover their opponent's flaws and weaknesses, then strike selectively. For Li Xian to charge in so recklessly and seize the initiative like this was simply handing his weakness to the enemy. It was stupidity in the extreme.
Yet Li Xian was highly skilled and bold, and did not care in the slightest.
Faced with this splendid sword move, Xiang Yang's feet remained utterly still, as though he did not consider the dazzling, brilliant strike worthy of notice.
At the same time, he shot out the index finger of his right hand like lightning—pointing, flicking, pinching, pressing. Layer upon layer of dazzling golden ripples spread from his hand. Every move was strange and marvelous, every finger stroke inexhaustible, dissipating Li Xian's sword momentum into nothingness. It