Shan Xinglan is indeed the Northern Army God, an era-defining Grandmaster.
This final move with the sword, laid bare, was vicious and tricky. Wang Anfeng's inner strength was rich and solid, enabling him to envelop the sword qi. Even so, it took him seventy percent of his qi mechanism to suppress it; otherwise, he would feel a stabbing pain in his heart. For an average Fourth Rank Martial Artist, several lives would not be enough to withstand it.
The white-haired Wu Changqing was preparing medicine for him while muttering incessantly.
Saying how this time his actions were too reckless, young people need to be slower and more gentle, overly rigid things are prone to break.
Saying how if this sword had deviated an inch upward, even the Golden Bell Shield wouldn't have withstood it.
By then, coming back half-dead, is it your intention for the Abbot Ci to go out and bear the mountain once more?
