Su Xiuhang looked at Jiang Wang with some concern, not for his safety, but for the antidote she had.
But one could see Jiang Wang, enveloped in purple qi, his longsword like a shooting star, already piercing through.
He was indeed furious.
All of it channeled into his sword.
Clang!
A thin, bone-carving knife collided with the tip of Jiang Wang's longsword.
The pig-bone masked one blocked Jiang Wang's momentum with agility that belied his size.
The bone-carving knife was only three inches long.
Held in his fat hand, it resembled nothing so much as an embroidery needle.
Yet it darted about like a butterfly passing through flowers, deadly intent scattering in its grace.
The thin knife pecked at the sword thrice in quick succession, the sword remaining undamaged.
Then, with a whirl of cold light, it twisted forward along the blade.
Just when it seemed the opponent would be shredded into pieces, the pig-bone masked figure's vision blurred as a falling leaf drifted past.
