Lin Xuan had arranged a sparring match as soon as he arrived, and he had specifically set up the first bout. He wanted to see what Lin Xuan's martial prowess was like, but he had not expected him to be so impressive, defeating Zeng Tong, who was at the middle stage of Breath-Connecting, in his very first battle.
Having just arrived and already fighting an old disciple like Zeng Tong to such a result, he felt that Lin Xuan's potential in the martial path had not merely been overestimated—it had been underestimated.
Yet he could also see Lin Xuan's problem: his fist techniques were crude, and he relied entirely on strength greater than his opponent's and his ability to judge their movements.
That would certainly not work for an ordinary person; they would inevitably suffer for it.
But Lin Xuan was different. It was as though he could predict correctly every time, as though his opponents were always a beat slower in his eyes.
Li Baisheng admired Lin Xuan even more.
Martial arts could be taught, and experience could be gained. Talent alone could not be changed.
"Thanks for letting me win." Lin Xuan cupped his hands toward Zeng Tong, then slowly stepped down from the platform.
Rather than feeling unwilling or humiliated after being defeated by Lin Xuan, Zeng Tong instead developed a sense of admiration—the respect one held for the strong.
After stepping down, he stood shoulder to shoulder with Lin Xuan. "Brother Lin, who was your master before you came here?"
"I was just a wild practitioner. No master taught me before; I learned everything on my own." Lin Xuan chose to tell the truth.
Zeng Tong fell silent. He could indeed see that Lin Xuan's fist techniques were crude, but knowing that he had comprehended them