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The solid yellow mud ground broke into fist-sized hard chunks, the high noon sun shone squarely on the Martial Arts Performance Ground, and tiny specks of dust danced within the beams of light, rising and falling with each rapid breath.
Shadows overlapped, countless people perched atop the walls surrounding the Martial Arts Performance Ground.
Not a sound from the crows and sparrows.
Lan Tai lowered his head, his feet casting shaky shadows, then turned to look at his master, only to find Pang Qinghe's face expressionless, or rather, devoid of any liveliness to the point of being unable to make any spirited expressions.
The Junior Brother had lost.
In a clash of fists, one side either overwhelms, forcefully striking back! Or they repel each other, both retreating!
They should never stick together like now.
