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Two figures stood back to back, Fang Han's precious sword angled towards the sky, while Li Xiaoyao's sword tip rested on the ground; neither moved, as though they had become statues.
Jiang Lichun looked at Li Xiaoyao with concern. The last scene had happened too fast, even he hadn't seen clearly who had won.
"Clang!"
The precious sword slipped from his hand and fell to the ground, emitting a clear, ringing sound, blood spurting from Fang Han's neck in a terrifying, fountain-like gush.
Fang Han clutched his neck desperately with both hands and fell to his knees, his bloodshot eyes filled with unwillingness.
The vital essence rapidly drained from his body; Fang Han had died, falling to the ground, his blood staining the green grass red.
Now Jiang Lichun was truly shocked. He knew only too well what Li Xiaoyao's cultivation level was.
