"Not bad."
Fang Fan set the wine flask back on the table, his tone as casual as if he were saying dinner was a little too salty.
He genuinely saw nothing to be proud of.
Feng Xiaotian's chain of slashes was exceptional among people their age, but to Fang Fan, it was slow. Far too slow.
The gaps between his slashes were wide enough to fit a wine flask through. Fang Fan had not even used Soul Power; he had dismantled the whole attack with nothing but his eyes and the strength of his hand. There was little to say about a sparring match at that level.
But the calmer he seemed, the more differently Huo Wu and Huo Wushuang looked at him.
It was like standing at the foot of a snowcapped peak. The man was sitting right across from them, drinking wine, yet no matter how they craned their necks, they could not see his summit.
Huo Wushuang could not help speaking, his voice heavy with frustration that had built up over far too long:
"Brother Fang, you're too modest. I can't even beat Feng Xiaotian. When we spar, he has me on the defensive nine times out of ten. No matter how hard I train or fight, I'm always a step behind him."
He paused, raised his cup, and gulped down some wine, as if he could swallow his frustration along with it.
He and Feng Xiaotian were close friends. That much was true. But friendship was one thing; only he knew how it felt to be beaten so badly that he could not fight back.
He trained hard every day without fail, all so he could beat Feng Xiaotian fair and square one day.
Yet the more he trained, the more that gap seemed impossible to