Wu Pifu easily caught the tip of the knife between two fingers, using neither a fraction too much nor too little force.
He was actually displaying his skill. If the other party had even a little discernment, or was a transcendent from the martial arts path, then even if he did not immediately throw down his knife and bow, retreating at once would have been his only option.
There was a saying in martial arts: three parts higher meant boundlessly higher. That was indeed true. And Wu Pifu was more than merely three parts higher in martial arts cultivation—he was practically at the very peak. With the same ordinary mortal flesh and no transcendence, it was not simply like a five-year-old child fighting a strong adult man. Even if Tyson himself came, he would still be on his knees after a single exchange.
Yet the muscular man before him merely looked surprised and showed no other reaction. He began forcing the knife forward, but it could not advance even a single millimeter, as if it had struck a steel plate.
Only then did the muscular man abruptly release the knife. One hand reached for Wu Pifu's throat while the other jabbed straight at his eyes. He was incredibly fast; even his striking speed, precision, and reaction time had surpassed the limits of an ordinary human.
But Wu Pifu still did not take him seriously. He flipped and turned the fingers pinching the knife, catching it in his hand and squeezing lightly. The entire knife instantly became an iron ball. He had kneaded iron as if it were clay. Then, before the muscular man's claws and fingers could touch his body, two little-finger-sized iron balls slammed into both of the man's elbow joints. Two dull thuds sounded, and the man's elbows