In the midst of the windswept sands, silence reigned.
The Taoist disciples stared blankly at the silver, flying swords suspended all over the sky and the wide black robe billowing and rolling backward in the wind.
Although no count was heard,
yet in everyone's heart, they were silently counting to ten.
Ten breaths are long, enough to determine a person's life or death.
Yet ten breaths are also short, passing in an instant with the roar of the windswept sands—
Ao Ying sat atop a flying sword, resting her chin in her hand, waiting for Xie Xuanyi to descend with his sword and kill.
Even though she didn't interact much with the Taoist Sect,
from the reactions of these young Taoists, it seemed they wouldn't be able to make the right choice within the time span of ten breaths.
