Before Zixiao Palace, everyone held their breath.
In the arena, one man fought six, and a tremendous battle had already begun.
At this point, there was no retreat.
Earlier, Lian Youming had still had strength to spare. He could win without killing, sparing lives by the narrowest of margins. But now, fighting with everything he had, he could only put life and death out of mind if he wanted to settle victory and defeat.
That was true for him, and for the other six as well.
Yet none of the seven showed anything unusual in their eyes. They were utterly composed.
On the long road of the Martial Way, everyone longed to reach the end. Why would they begrudge risking themselves?
As for why Lian Youming had spared Yang Wu and Zhao Danxia, aside from their performances, the more important reason was his feeling that, should another Demon-Slaying Battle erupt in the near future, these so-called prodigies of the various schools might shine.
If he slaughtered freely in this battle, his martial attainment might advance, but with Wudang stained in blood and countless experts dead or wounded, would that not violate his true intentions? Lian Youming wanted to protect everything, but under Fists Suppress the Mountains and Rivers, perhaps these people were among those he sought to protect.
Kung fu was the way of attack and defense. Being able to defend against others was no great ability; being able to hold true to oneself was what counted.
Lian Youming admitted that, for a moment earlier, killing intent had surged within him. He had thought of wiping out the Yang-style lineage, killing them all and rooting them out completely.
But if he did, could the various Taiji schools still unite and rebuild the Taiji Gate?
Not to mention the Remnants of