No one had expected this outcome.
Wu Jiu and the others had not expected it, nor had Taiji Gate.
Peng Bubai had clearly seized the initiative earlier, so how had he ended up defeated and dead in the blink of an eye?
What exactly had happened just then?
That thin jet of blood?
Although the bright moon hung overhead, amid the chaotic fighting within the wooden framework, no one had seen clearly.
But a win was a win.
How he had won no longer mattered.
Only when the figure up above leaped and bounded down did Wu Jiu rise and let out a long breath. Then he frowned toward Taiji Gate, looked at the signboard above the martial hall's entrance, and called out with a yawn, "Gentlemen, do as you promised."
According to their earlier agreement, if Peng Bubai lost, Taiji Gate had to take down its signboard and break it before them.
The Taiji disciples' eyes reddened at these words. They gritted their teeth in hatred, clenching their fingers into their palms until their knuckles cracked like rats grinding their teeth in a granary at night.
The three Grand Boxers, however, remained expressionless.
But their calm was only on the surface. The other spectators already felt an immense, invisible pressure.
Even the air seemed frozen, like an iceberg that had not melted in ten thousand years.
Sensing trouble, quite a few sects quietly began retreating, intending to stay out of the line of fire for now.
Baji Sect against Taiji Gate-neither was to be trifled with.
As for Taiji Gate's white-haired, youthful-faced elder, the Grand Boxer surnamed Liu, his expression remained blank, but his hair and beard bristled, and his robes stirred without a breeze. Like an enraged lion, he stared fixedly at Wu Jiu before turning his gaze