"This sword technique... is too hard to practice."
Fang Yang sighed, filled with emotion.
He straightened his robes again.
He felt that if this continued, he had no idea whether Ye Qinghong would fall, but he himself would very likely fall first.
He would become a medieval dev-pah! Priest, forsaken by gods and men, violating countless moral codes!
That night's sword practice ended...
Even merely memorizing Fang Yang's domineering sword technique had been mentally exhausting for Ye Qinghong.
He had nearly collapsed and fainted.
Especially with his relationship with his master, which was like tangled threads that could neither be cut nor straightened, leaving him at a loss.
He only wanted to leave the Back Mountain Hot Spring quickly, return home, and curl up in a corner of his bed, that little world belonging to him alone.
There, he could think about the road ahead in peace.
But...
Why did he feel somewhat disappointed?
As though something were missing.
His brows furrowed slightly, and he was about to leave, his gaze dim.
Suddenly, a commanding voice rang out behind him.
"Wait!"
That voice made him stop short.
Before he could turn around, he was pulled into a pair of broad arms, held so tightly that it seemed he might be melded into that body.
Then he saw those deep eyes and that handsome face slowly drawing closer.
And then...
Came that tender kiss.
"You did well tonight. Keep up the good work tomorrow night. I believe you'll master the Red Dust Sword Technique sooner or later."
Fang Yang understood the way of being a master very well: stern when sternness was called for, gentle when gentleness was needed, just like now.
Giving his disciple a suitable reward.
Would give Ye Qinghong more motivation to practice his swordsmanship.
Most importantly, he