"Good, good, good!"
Luo San repeated the word three times, his fury reaching its peak.
Then he burst into unrestrained laughter. He spun the circular blade, and the strange-colored full moon contracted and throbbed like a living heart, then opened like a ferocious beast's gaping maw, greedily snatching up every trace of life within its reach. His laughter stopped abruptly. In a low voice, he said, "Very well. Then let this old man properly test whether your 'kill them all if you can' is as true as it sounds, or just empty bluster! Come fight!"
Seeing that Shen Tang had drawn all of Luo San's hatred to herself, Wei Cheng stepped in to block his killing move. "Your opponent is me!"
Luo San's eyes had already turned scarlet.
He shouted at the roadblock that was Wei Cheng, "Get lost!"
Wei Cheng wasn't about to put up with that. He thrust at him head-on, fast as lightning.
Whether Literary Scholars or Martial Gall Warriors, they generally followed the same rule: the deeper their cultivation, the worse their temperament; the older they got, the nastier their disposition. By sheer coincidence, Wei Cheng fit both descriptions. He was a step ahead of everyone else, and he wasn't even alive.
In terms of age and seniority, Wei Cheng could have been Luo San's great-grandfather.
Wei Cheng had always been the one telling others to get lost. Now a junior was yelling it at him. How could he put up with that? He gave a contemptuous sneer, and the weapon in his hand grew heavier by more than a thousand jin. Yet even that couldn't make Luo San give ground by half a step. Wei Cheng raised the force of his next blow to ten thousand jin and shouted, "You little brat, get on your