Mu Qingfeng and Mu Furong were now among the spectators.
The brother and sister were naturally very concerned about whether Yang Chen could defeat the Profound Dao Sect disciple. After all, this was news that drew countless eyes.
But seeing that the two were merely evenly matched so far, Mu Furong pouted. "I thought Yang Chen was so formidable. I didn't expect him to do no more than fight Zhu Huaikong to a draw."
"Only fighting Zhu Huaikong to a draw... Furong, since when has drawing with a Profound Dao Sect disciple become something shameful?" Mu Qingfeng asked in surprise.
Mu Furong paused slightly. That was right—since when was drawing with a Profound Dao Sect disciple something disgraceful?
"We've unconsciously placed him too high on a pedestal. Perhaps he isn't as powerful as we imagined, but he definitely isn't weak either." Mu Qingfeng frowned deeply. "And look carefully. Perhaps they are not simply evenly matched."
"Not evenly matched? If this isn't a draw, then what is it?" Mu Furong asked, confused.
"I can't quite explain it either. Theoretically speaking, they've fought for so long without being able to determine a victor, so it truly is a draw. Yang Chen and Zhu Huaikong have both used the methods they should have used, yet neither has gained the upper hand. But look closely at their expressions. Haven't you noticed that Zhu Huaikong is very impatient, while Yang Chen is extremely calm?" Mu Qingfeng said solemnly.
Only after her brother pointed it out did Mu Furong notice.
Indeed, Yang Chen appeared very calm—so calm that it made one feel this man had never taken this battle seriously at all.
Zhu Huaikong was different. It was clear that he was extremely impatient, as though he were hitting walls and meeting obstacles at every turn.