Every sword movement he made was fully understood; every trap was as clear in his mind as a mirror. He had never stood at such a height before—except when facing the person before him.
The sword light crisscrossed between the two, trading blows within a hair's breadth of life and death, their blades ceaselessly illuminating the faces of the old and the young before flitting away. Every second was filled with splendor and wonder, every second was fraught with deadly intent.
Qu Zhu's swordsmanship was too powerful. Here, for the first time, he unleashed all of his techniques without restraint. Gone were the breathless moments after the first exchange; his attack was as fierce as a tempest, demanding life.