Zheng Yulin had always loved picking faults. That was how he taught—how could a physician who couldn't withstand psychological pressure ever succeed?
But this time, he couldn't find anything to criticize.
It had taken only seven days to go from a beginner to the first level of the Fine-Knife Technique. Then, after watching Zheng Yulin demonstrate the second level just twenty times, Zhao Xing had entered the second level himself.
To force a criticism would have gone against his conscience!
At this moment, the way Zheng Yulin looked at Zhao Xing was as if he were looking at a peerless divine medicine still in the process of growing.
He was certain he had found a treasure!
"Not bad." Zheng Yulin suppressed his excitement and left him with that evaluation.
The words "not bad" drifted into the ears of Yuan Jia, Meng Zhou, Yan Shuo, and Ding Yue. Their jaws nearly dropped.
Everyone knew how strict Zheng Yulin was. Even when a student did well, his usual evaluation was merely "ordinary."
"Not bad" was Zheng Yulin's highest praise!
Ding Yue had followed him for nearly two years, yet had heard him offer such praise only once. The subject had been Su Jinyu, not him.
And now, he had heard that evaluation given to Zhao Xing?
"What level has his Fine-Knife Technique reached?" Yuan Jia, Meng Zhou, and Yan Shuo were itching to know.
Zheng Yulin generally gave his students no time to communicate during lessons, and he usually had no dealings with Zhao Xing either. From this distance, they really couldn't see what the willow-leaf skin Zhao Xing had cut looked like.
Still, the first level was probably secure.
They simply didn't know why Zhao Xing had earned such an evaluation. Could it be that Zhao Xing had no foundation at