The exchange was more than halfway through, and all those who were supposed to take the stage had already done so.
As if coordinated in advance, everyone grew quiet.
"Brother Zhao, we still owe each other a battle."
Tang Juran stood up, his tall figure exuding an imposing pressure. His gaze, as sharp as a sword, was directed at the man opposite him.
Setting down his wine glass, Zhao Yihuan laughed and said, "I was about to extend the same invitation to Brother Tang."
Whoosh, whoosh.
In a flash, both of them almost simultaneously appeared in the arena.
Before others could react, a deafening sound that made hearts pound burst forth, scattering the wind that had been blowing in a disorderly manner.
The scent of wine also spread, and occasional birds flying by flapped their wings a few times, seemingly dazed and losing their strength.
"Excellent move!"
Someone erupted in applause, shouting praises.
