He had never imagined that this strike would miss.
The sword tip pressed against the tip of an embroidery needle, as though it had struck an iron wall.
All its force was exhausted in an instant. Sword qi scattered in every direction, whipping Wang Xian's robes into a furious flutter and setting the bronze bells beneath the pavilion eaves ringing.
It sent the flower petals in the garden swirling into the air.
Yet the sword could not advance even an inch!
At that moment, Wang Xian had nowhere left to retreat.
His back was against a pavilion pillar, and his heels were already at the edge of the stone base. One more half-step back, and he would step into empty air.
If Tang Feng's sword moved forward another inch, Wang Xian would die without question.
For a swordsman like Tang Feng, an inch was no more than the time it took to blink.
With the slightest flick of his wrist, the blade could pierce Wang Xian's heart, even churn his chest into a mangled mass of flesh.
At that critical instant, Wang Xian made his move.
An instant too brief for a hair to fit between.
How long was an instant? Buddhist scriptures said that one snap of the fingers contained sixty instants, and one instant contained nine hundred cycles of birth and extinction.
Wang Xian moved in less time than a single instant.
So quickly that Tang Feng's sword had not yet been thrust forward, so quickly that the sword qi had not yet gathered again, so quickly that the petals swept into the air by the sword qi still hung suspended overhead.
Two fingers pinched the slender embroidery needle, and it had somehow blocked the sword's edge.
No one could describe the ingenuity and speed of that needle