"There is always someone beyond you, and another heaven beyond the heavens. Your swordsmanship... borders on the divine, Daoist brother. I, Yan Heng, concede defeat."
Yan Heng lowered his proud head and admitted his defeat. After this battle, he was utterly convinced.
He lifted his head, hurriedly raised the Spirit Sword in both hands, and took a few steps forward to return it to Jiang Yang.
Jiang Yang accepted Bai Du and hung it at his waist, then cupped his hands in return.
"It was only a sparring match. You praise me too highly, Daoist brother. This place is cramped; Ruo we fought somewhere else, the outcome might still have been uncertain."
Hearing this, Yan Heng lowered his head, all but ready to hide his face behind his sleeve. Fighting someone in the early stage while he was in the late stage already gave him an advantage, and this had not merely been a defeat—it would have been a killing blow. The difficulty of the two was on entirely different levels. How could he not feel ashamed?
He merely shook his head and said quietly:
"A loss is a loss. You need not make excuses for me, fellow Daoist."
At this moment, the red-robed True Person, who had been watching throughout, suddenly asked:
"What exquisite swordsmanship. What sort of move was that? Sword essence?"
Judged purely by its power, this strike was lighter than a mosquito bite to a Purple Mansion cultivator, with nothing particularly praiseworthy about it. What truly surprised the True Person was that he could not hold the Spirit Sword between his fingers, and had even needed to use divine powers to restrain it.
"My cultivation is insignificant, senior. It hardly merits your attention."
Jiang Yang stepped forward and paid his respects. He had expected a True