In the dead of night, Xue Shilou closed his eyes and focused, treating the rake in his hand as if it were his sword. Suddenly opening his eyes, he swung it with the force of a gale, every move executed with precision and method.
Even the seasoned masters of rake skill in Muxue City, upon seeing Xue Shilou's actions, would have to admit their respect, for Xue Shilou wielded it much stronger than they.
But Xue Shilou felt it still wasn't enough.
Not fast enough, not fast enough, it needed to be faster, even faster!
The rake in his hand left behind trails of illusory shadows as he swung, and eventually, he was so tired he was huffing and puffing, propping himself up with the rake to barely stand, maintaining the poise of a sword cultivator.
Daoist Lu had him practice the rake skill, which must contain deeper meaning, certainly not as simple as merely teaching the students the rake skill.
Xue Shilou stared at the rake handle, now imprinted by his grip, letting his mind wander.
