Seeing the White-Robed Man standing frozen in place with his eyes wide and his face stiff, looking as though the Spring Return Immortal Art had shaken him out of his wits, Chen Changming raised a brow in satisfaction.
This was exactly the effect he wanted.
With the Spring Return Immortal Art revealed as his trump card, anyone with half a brain should understand—continuing the fight meant they simply could not kill him.
An opponent who could not be killed was the nightmare no cultivator ever wished to face.
In battle, the White-Robed Man expended his own blood essence and spiritual power, only to watch his opponent revive at full strength time and time again. Anyone who could do the math knew that was a loss all the way to grandma's house.
The smile faded from Chen Changming's lips, and his expression returned to calm. He clasped his hands toward the White-Robed Man from afar and said neither humbly nor arrogantly, "Fellow Daoist, I admit that in today's battle, I am no match for you."
He paused, then shifted the subject. "But if you wish to kill me, that too will be as hard as climbing to heaven. There is no grudge between us; this was no more than a misunderstanding. Why not part ways here and go our separate roads?"
He spoke with unhurried composure, meeting the other's gaze openly. He neither bowed and scraped nor pressed aggressively, striking precisely the right balance.
The White-Robed Man fell silent.
This silence was utterly unlike his earlier scoffs and taunts.
His eyelids lowered slightly, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. His brow furrowed into deep vertical lines, clearly weighing the gains and losses.
The White-Robed Man's gaze swept repeatedly over Chen Changming's calm, unruffled face before falling upon his arm, smooth and pristine