"Hey? What's with that look?!" Fang Cheng grew displeased as he watched the young man's expression shift multiple times after his defeat, ultimately revealing a look of hatred.
'In a spar, winning and losing are inevitable. If you can't handle a loss, you shouldn't have come down to fight!'
'What's the meaning of this now?'
With a wave, Fang Cheng swept his Vajra Pestle forward.
Neither Zhao Yang nor the crowd on the Cloud Ascending Platform had expected Fang Cheng's sudden attack.
Zhao Yang's face paled. He scrambled to dodge, but it was too late. A sudden gust of wind, a dull THUD, and the weapon struck his waist.
In the blink of an eye, a streak of impossibly fast, cloud-like light landed on Zhao Yang, deflecting most of the blow's force.
The one who had acted was none other than Cen San Niang.
Even so, Zhao Yang was still sent flying, tumbling a great distance through the air.
