Xu Xiaoshou had heard of the Eighth Sword Immortal's reputation for "one poem, one sword," but he had never felt it as concretely as he did now.
Because in the real world, very few people could replicate it.
He still remembered that in Tiansang City's City Lord's Manor, there had been a young master, Fu Xing, who loved poetry and swords.
He had also greatly admired the Eighth Sword Immortal and yearned desperately for the Ten-Stage Sword Finger.
But the sword he wielded had only sword, no poetry. Thus, it lost its soul—the soul that belonged to his idol, the Eighth Sword Immortal's "one poem, one sword."
After all, the distance between them was far too great, whether in era or realm.
Even though Fu Xing had heard the Eighth Sword Immortal's legendary tales and tried to imitate him, he ultimately failed to grasp his spirit.
Xiao Kongtong was far too different!
This guy was practically Ba Zunan's number-one fan.
While perfectly replicating his strength, he could even imitate a little of that youthful arrogance.
"I, I... whew!"
Xiao Kongtong braced himself on his knees. Hearing that, he weakly raised a hand and waved it, clearly exhausted beyond measure, yet still putting on airs. "He didn't teach me, but I could learn it myself."
"Learn it yourself?"
Xu Xiaoshou had a better constitution. The moment he stopped, he had recovered seventy to eighty percent. "How could you learn it yourself? You hadn't seen it, nor had you heard of it... So these sword forms weren't your teacher's, but your own creations?"
That was far too fierce! Rao Yaoyao was no ordinary person. He had seen Ba Zunan's swordsmanship—wasn't Xiao Kongtong afraid of being exposed?
"Who said I hadn't seen them or heard of them?"
"These swords are naturally all my