"No, I've already reached my limit."
"My true energy is still being suppressed too severely. With every collision, I can't completely steady myself."
After an unknown amount of time, Sikong Jing muttered inwardly. Then he suddenly shouted, "Beast Technique, Cloud-Gathering Palm!"
A violent palm gale blasted from his hand toward one of the phantoms. Using the phantom's single step backward, he shot through the gap—in other words, his Cloud-Gathering Palm had directly forced the Silver Moon Phantom back half a step.
It was precisely because of that that Sikong Jing flashed out through the opening and landed on the ground.
At the same time, the eight Silver Moon Phantoms gave him no chance to rest as they pounced on him. This time, Sikong Jing had no intention of merging into the silver moonlight again, instead allowing the eight phantoms to surround him completely.
The scene froze at that instant. Everyone let out a long breath. It was finally over.
Sikong Jing of the Eastern Plains had, in the end, still lost.
"Hahaha, I told you this brat was bound to lose." Seeing this, Yang Li burst into laughter.
Yet the very next moment, Sikong Jing's soft chuckle rang out. "Senior Sister Weng, I've gone past a thousand moves just now, haven't I?"
"Gah..." Yang Li, who had been thrilled beyond measure, abruptly choked off her voice.
At the same time, the captains and spectators who had just let out breaths of relief were utterly dumbfounded. Jin Liwu, who had been about to mock Sikong Jing, had his words viciously lodged in his throat.
Wan Tonghui's face slowly reddened, until it became crimson.
Prompted by Sikong Jing's reminder, everyone finally realized that this challenge was not about victory or defeat, but about how many moves one could withstand from Weng Ting.