Shen Yuxi felt out of sorts.
Ever since yesterday's drawing results came out, he had been feeling out of sorts. The sensation was like a tiny thorn lodged in his heart—not fatal, not intense, yet always there, reminding him from time to time: you can't escape.
But at the time, he had selectively pressed that thorn down. Senior Brother Jing's match had followed right after, after all. To properly watch his idol, even if the sky fell, it had to be set aside first.
Now that his idol's match was over, he could no longer set it aside.
But the tournament had already reached its third day. There were six people in the Nascent Soul Division, three duels, and two had already passed. Only two figures remained yet to take the stage, like the final two pieces in an unfinished game of chess, facing each other across the board with no path of retreat.
Who was his opponent? So hard to guess.
Another direct disciple of one of the two sects—the Primordial Unity Sect. Another direct descendant of one of the four clans—the Ling Clan. And the type he hated most: a monstrous brute who knew no technique, understood no reason, and simply crushed people with sheer strength—Ling Anhe.
Shen Yuxi's face remained frozen in frost and snow, but inwardly, he had greeted every god in the heavens.
Honestly, there were only six people in the Nascent Soul Division, and he did not want to face any of them. He did not want to fight anyone. Saying he wanted to draw Senior Brother Jing had been nothing but empty bravado—did he think his fragrance would arrive before Senior Brother Jing's fist?
Impossible. Senior Brother Jing's punches were faster than he could imagine.
Second Senior Brother only wanted to be beautiful