But young men were always accustomed to trampling formidable foes underfoot, especially young men like him. Taking a two-day detour over this sword strike was only natural.
His staggering, frail figure collided with Yang Zhenbing's leveled sword. Pei Ye kept his eyes closed, and the instant his sword tip touched the Sword Body, his body weakened to its utmost limit. Yet at that same moment, as though his entire life had been bestowed upon this strike, Yang Zhenbing's iron-curtain sword strike broke at the wrist, his sword flying from his hand. He swiftly drew a second sword, but this strike swept through it like rotten wood and withered grass. Only when he drew his third sword did the black-clad youth grit his teeth and brace desperately against the strike. It drove him back seventy feet into the Sword Field's wall, his Sword Body almost pressed against his own throat.
Pei Ye opened his eyes and gave a weak smile, then drew two deep breaths.
An offensive sword strike ranked among Shaolong's top three four hundred years ago.
Yun pierced the clouds and passed through the leaves, its cry shattering the clear dew.
Flying Feather Immortal, third form: [White Dew].
"Who did you fight? How did it go?"
"Zuo Qiu Longhua. I lost."
"Wasn't he ranked below thirtieth on the list, if I remember right?"
"Too low."
Pei Ye recalled that Heavenly Mountain had long remained in the Western Kingdom. Perhaps this was also Zuo Qiu Longhua's first time descending Snow Mountain. The Immortal Platform's understanding of these distant geniuses inevitably had its inaccuracies. After all, Yang Zhenbing's ranking had only soared after he took second place at the Southern Kingdom's sword gathering.
He nodded and said no more.
The two practiced there until deep into the night, partnering up when