Manager Wan had naturally noticed it long ago.
Hearing the young man speak, Manager Wan remained expressionless and cupped his fists. "We're all fellow practitioners. A guest from afar is still a guest—how could we lay hands on him?"
"Well said, Uncle!"
The young man flattered him, but still wore a roguish grin. "After tonight, I'll definitely visit your residence and trouble you for a cup of wine."
"But today, we're still short one flag. I can only be rude."
With things said this far, Manager Wan could only agree. Otherwise, it would mean losing face. He asked in a deep voice, "Will it be a literary contest or a martial one?"
The young man glanced at the divine phantom in the smoke and smiled. "We're all Xuan Gate People, and men of the jianghu besides. A literary contest would be too dull."
"How about a martial one?"
Manager Wan narrowed his eyes slightly. "How do you want to play?"
"Simple!"
The young man chuckled and cupped his fists. "First we'll fight with our fists, then we'll compete in techniques. We'll stop at the point of contact, and you can let me witness the talents of Guanzhong's young heroes."
There was a trap in his words.
If the other side sent an old man, it would be bullying the young with the old. If they sent a young man, he naturally would not be the least bit afraid.
Of course, he had no idea he was overthinking it.
Manager Wan was an Xuan Gate artisan who specialized in drums and music. The people he associated with were either jianghu performers or practitioners of the Xuan Gate's unorthodox branches. There truly were not many who could fight.
Especially this time: neither the Tai Xuan Orthodox Sect nor the orthodox Dharma lineages