It was not that Great Gang Leader Ou was unwilling to examine Zhang Xiaohu's aptitude. It was simply that, as the leader of the Misty Sect, he truly had ten thousand affairs to attend to each day. Where would he find the time to concern himself with such trivial branches and leaves? Even Zhang Xiaohua, the youth who had saved his own blood sister—he could barely remember his name now.
Great Gang Leader Ou himself was a man of peerless talent; how could he possibly fail to remember someone's name? It was only because, to him, Zhang Xiaohua was a disposable item. Once he had offered his thanks, that was that. The youth would never draw his attention again, so why would he bother committing the name to memory?
But now Zhang Xiaohu was exchanging fists and kicks with Yuan Xing on the stage. Since he was already watching, how could he not pay a little attention to the man's aptitude?
That was how Great Gang Leader Ou, as a gang leader, thought. Thus, he began to take notice.
At first, his thoughts were no different from those of the other disciples. He felt that Zhang Xiaohu had nothing remarkable about him and would be knocked off the stage before long. Yet after chatting with Monk Chang Geng for a while, he raised his head again and involuntarily uttered an "Hmm." This was already the second time he had lost his composure since Zhang Xiaohu took the stage. It was precisely when Zhang Xiaohua noticed the changes in his second brother's fists and kicks.
Since Zhang Xiaohua could see it, Great Gang Leader Ou could see it as well. Perhaps they saw different things, but both had perceived the shift in the situation.
The better Zhang Xiaohu's fist technique became,