"Iron Wire Fist?"
"Have you no shame? First concealed dirty tricks, now hidden weapons."
"Why not just wheel a cannon up here?"
At the sight of the dozen or so refined-steel rings around Zuo Yufei's arms, the Baji Sect disciples outside the arena slammed the tables and rose in outrage. Wei Bozhao, the Pigua Sect's master, turned a deaf ear to the commotion. "Weapons are extensions of the hands and feet. How can you call that concealment... Besides, he joined our Pigua Sect two days ago. He came to us with skills already learned. Is he not allowed to know a few other schools' techniques?"
Wu Jiu was furious too. "Looks like your Pigua Sect really has no one left."
They had undoubtedly dredged up this Southern Fist expert from some obscure corner to prevent Lian Youming from figuring out the various schools' techniques and fighting styles beforehand.
If not for the rule forbidding too great an age gap between the street defenders and the challenger, who knew what older-generation experts these sects might have picked? They had abandoned all concern for appearances.
And trampled their actual dignity underfoot as well.
The old Hung Fist master's expression darkened too. He warned, "Careful, young man. I've never seen this fellow, but judging by his fighting style, he hides unorthodox moves within orthodox ones, outwardly hard and direct, inwardly treacherous. He probably isn't one of our Hung Fist disciples. He looks more like a ruthless fighter from the southern underworld."
The Martial Gate belonged to the jianghu, but the jianghu was not limited to the Martial Gate.
The old man was implying that this man had nothing to do with his Hung Fist lineage.
Lian Youming brushed the clothing over his chest, then looked at Zuo Yufei, who had settled into his