Shouldn't There Be a Reward?

Treat him as a moving piece of metal.

The instant that thought settled in his mind, Tang Wulin himself grew calm.

He stopped watching Xie Xie as a whole.

Instead, he watched only a few places—the landing points of his feet, the rise and fall of his shoulders, the tiny change in his wrist before he exerted force, and the brief sound of the Light Dragon Dagger slicing through the air.

He was already intimately familiar with all these things from the forging room.

Metal rose, sank, rebounded, and shifted. What truly determined where the next hammer blow should land was never "where it is now," but "where it will go in the next instant."

When Xie Xie darted in again, Tang Wulin no longer relied entirely on his eyes to track him.

The instant Xie Xie's right shoulder dipped slightly, he flipped the hammer in his left hand and swung it behind his back.

Clink!

A crisp ring sounded, and sparks burst out.

Xie Xie had already swept past his side, but his footwork faltered noticeably.

He blocked it?

Not only the spectators—even Xie Xie himself froze for a moment.

He had calculated the angle of that strike, slipping in where Tang Wulin would have the hardest time bringing his hammer back. Yet Tang Wulin's blow had not been a panicked block. It was as though he had been waiting there in advance.

Xie Xie pushed off and instantly doubled back to the other side.

The second strike came even faster than the first.

Tang Wulin's right-hand hammer rose almost simultaneously, closing off the attack at an angle.

Clang!

The second ring.

He had blocked it again.

This time, the spectators were no longer silent. A stir rose among them that they clearly could not suppress.

Zhou Changxi's eyes