Even so, Hundred Damage Daoist's cultivation was there for all to see. The moment he struck, a biting chill swept forth, and the onlookers nearby involuntarily retreated two steps, afraid of being caught in the crossfire.
"You're far too despicable! You know brother Yang has lost an arm, yet you deliberately attack that side!" Miss Gongsun in green cried anxiously.
Hundred Damage Daoist had lived for decades, and his old face had long been tempered thicker than a city wall. Hearing this, he laughed aloud. "I regard Brother Yang as an evenly matched opponent, so naturally I must strike with all my strength to show my respect. If Brother Yang finds that improper, I can use only one hand as well."
Yang Guo was proud by nature. He snorted. "No need!"
As he spoke, he shifted sideways. His empty sleeve, like a nimble serpent, instantly coiled around Hundred Damage Daoist's incoming palm.
Song Qingshu could not help admiring Yang Guo's ingenuity. This self-created set of Melancholy Palms was truly unconventional, making the fullest use of his sleeve, body movements, leg techniques, and more to offset the disadvantage of his missing hand.
Hundred Damage Daoist felt as though his fierce palm strike had landed on a mass of cotton. He tried to pull his hand back and shake off the sleeve, only for an incomparably powerful surge of inner force to suddenly pour from it. He did not dare be careless and hurriedly unleashed the Xuanming Divine Palm in response.
Both men's bodies jolted. One hand and one sleeve remained locked in a deadlock.
The cold poison inherent in the Xuanming Divine Palm ordinarily gave it an enormous advantage when competing in inner force. Yet Yang Guo's formidable internal strength, forged amid the ocean tides, was even fiercer and more unyielding.