"The job..."
Wang Anfeng murmured to himself, his gaze sweeping over the courtyard, observing each of the martial artists. These experienced individuals had all concealed their presence by various means, making them almost imperceptible to the unsuspecting eye. Yet in the eyes of the young man, no matter how cunning their techniques, they were futile.
In the past two years, his growth had not been limited to martial arts.
Sacred texts, secret techniques of Jianghu, and all sorts of useful skills—he had delved into them all.
Even his most eccentric third master, who taught him Qinggong during their sparring sessions, had imparted many lessons to him. Compared to Hong Luoyu, who could follow him stealthily and unnoticed, these martial artists' methods of concealing their presence were like swiss cheese—full of holes and recklessly executed—to the young man's eyes.
Too green.
Wang Anfeng looked down upon these martial artists with a calm expression.
Assassins?