Over the surface of Linjiang River, there was a shimmering golden wave. Mist filled the sky, concealing the sunset glow at the end of the horizon, making it seem vast and remote.
However, no one had the mind to appreciate this natural spectacle.
A splash in the water.
Yu Wen Cang, soaked to the bone, leapt upwards with his feet skimming the river surface. His face flickered between pallid and flushed, his expression unpredictable.
On his left shoulder was a clear sword mark, about a half-inch deep and six inches long, from which fresh blood flowed unceasingly, staining the front of his robe.
He lost.
He had lost!
After tireless effort for days and nights for three years, the person he aimed to defeat was still comfortably seated, while he was beaten by someone else first.
It was utterly disgraceful!
