Her prominent chest rose and fell slightly, and Nan Lingsha's complexion turned crimson, clearly, the effort of exhibiting the Twelfth Sword, even in the realm of painting, still consumed a great deal of her energy.
She slowly turned around, glancing at the white tent, and saw that Zhu Minglang had neatly seated himself there, even leading the applause for her.
This made Nan Lingsha breathe a sigh of relief.
It seemed that no one had noticed.
This Sword Meteor Sword Technique was still too profound, the mere twelve strokes felt as if they were draining her of all her spirit, energy, and soul. If used in real combat, should the twelve painted swords fail to defeat an opponent, the one most likely to die would probably be herself.
"Such a formidable painter," the veiled Hall Master Wen Lingfei sincerely exclaimed.
