Ling Shuang looked helpless too. "I came as soon as I received the message. I haven't had time to tell you yet."
Shui Qinghan frowned, worry filling her eyes.
Why had the brat climbed onto the platform to face off against Spirit Hall's people the moment he returned? And right in front of Chrysanthemum Douluo, no less.
Although she knew Wu Changkong understood where to draw the line, Spirit Hall's people were here. If things escalated, they would be difficult to settle.
Yue Guan stood in the doorway, his gaze fixed on Wu Changkong.
He had already seen Wu Changkong strike with his sword while he was outside.
It had only been two strikes, but the way he concentrated his sword intent into a single point and made himself a sword-in all Yue Guan's years, he could count on one hand the Sword Martial Soul masters he had seen reach that level.
And Wu Changkong had used the Iron Sword without even releasing his Martial Soul.
The corners of his lips rose, and he made no attempt to hide the admiration in his eyes.
"You're Wu Changkong, aren't you?"
Wu Changkong turned to look at him.
He wore purple-and-gold robes and had handsome features, his fingers held in a delicate orchid gesture as he spoke.
One glance was all Wu Changkong needed to guess who he was.
"You must be Chrysanthemum Douluo?"
"Yes. You may call me Elder Yue Guan."
"I saw those two sword strikes just now. To be honest, Spirit Hall has no shortage of Soul Masters who practice swordsmanship, but among the younger generation, I've never seen a single one reach your level."
"Then what are you getting at, Chrysanthemum Douluo? Just say it."
Yue Guan stopped beating around the bush. "His Holiness the Pope admires you