Atop Emei Golden Summit.
Lian Youming rose to his full height and tilted his head toward the moon, exhaling a long, scalding breath that turned into a dense cloud of white vapor.
Looking at the opponent still struggling fiercely in his grasp, he gripped the man by the neck and shook his arm with a burst of force. Old Daoist Wei immediately went limp like a snake with its joints dislocated, his limbs dangling, unable to move again.
The outcome was decided.
Rather than hurry down, Lian Youming sat cross-legged on the ground, parted his lips slightly, and slowly circulated his internal breath.
The battle had not been particularly brutal, but it had been dangerous.
And this man's swordsmanship had truly been extraordinary.
Unfortunately, his devotion to martial arts had not been pure enough.
Otherwise, that Detached Sword strike just now should have taken Lian Youming's life.
What a waste of such an astonishing killing move.
As Lian Youming breathed in and out, the sword wounds on his body drew closed one after another, the torn flesh gradually coming together in a truly wondrous sight. When he brushed his fingertips over them, only faint traces of blood remained. There was no sign of the sword wounds.
This was not healing, but the manipulation of muscle to close the wounds, stopping the bleeding and speeding recovery.
Old Daoist Wei, meanwhile, lay facedown on the ground, his face ashen. Unable to move or speak, he could only roll his bulging eyes in utter terror. Bloodshot and filled with resentment and hatred, they glared fixedly at Lian Youming.
Ignoring him, Lian Youming retrieved the Gall-Illuminating Sword from nearby and sheathed it. Then he picked up Old Daoist Wei, along with the man's weapon and severed arm, turned, and swiftly descended Emei Golden Summit.