In the distance, the dozen or so Qingxuan Sect disciples stared blankly at the scene, momentarily speechless.
From You Xin's sudden appearance to block their path, to the two of them clashing.
From Fang Han gaining the upper hand, to You Xin using a Secret Technique to counterattack.
From Fang Han desperately holding on, to You Xin's Secret Technique failing as he was slain by a single sword strike.
—
In that short half-hour, their hearts had been on a swing, rising and falling, suspended in uncertainty again and again.
Now, gazing at the green-robed figure of Fang Han standing with his sword, and at You Xin's black-robed corpse lying in a pool of blood, that feeling of suspense finally settled.
"You Xin… is dead?"
A disciple muttered, his voice so quiet it was barely audible, as if afraid of disturbing something.
"He's dead! You Xin is dead!"
Another disciple clenched his fists, his voice trembling uncontrollably.
It was a tremor born of excitement, or perhaps disbelief.
