Wang Chongyang wore an equally gloomy expression. He was the dignified Number One Under Heaven—though many top masters had not attended that Mount Hua Sword Competition—yet today, he had been repeatedly stymied by a junior. Worse still, having lost their earlier contest, he had no grounds to argue back.
Fortunately, Wang Chongyang had cultivated his character over the years, and his temper was far better than it had been decades ago. Otherwise, with his old competitive nature, he would surely have dragged the other man into another match.
Wang Chongyang coughed twice, then removed the mask from his face, revealing a lean, refined countenance.
Even though Song Qingshu found him displeasing, he had to admit that despite his age, Wang Chongyang's brows still radiated heroic spirit. He gave off the air of an immortal sage, a Banished Immortal standing apart from the world.
"No wonder Lin Chaoying had been utterly smitten with him back then. This guy must have been devastatingly handsome when he was young," Song Qingshu grumbled inwardly.
"Huh?" Xiaolongnü, leaning against a boulder, scrutinized him closely and could not help crying out in surprise. "You look like Wang Chongyang." Whenever Ancient Tomb Sect disciples entered the sect, they had to spit at Wang Chongyang's portrait. Though that portrait only showed his back, there was a frontal portrait of him in Chongyang Palace's main hall. Xiaolongnü had passed through Chongyang Palace so many times—how could she fail to recognize him?
Her mind was simple and pure, and she did not hesitate because of his reputation. Besides, the successors of the Ancient Tomb Sect had never liked Wang Chongyang, which was why she addressed him directly by name.
Wang Chongyang was also startled. Then he smiled faintly. "That's right. I am Wang Chongyang."
"Weren't you dead?" Xiaolongnü stared at