A Clumsy Swordsman

In those hasty brushstrokes, Guan Bai saw Zhou Ziheng's technique that seemed like a solitary boat emerging from a place beyond the heavens. The energy it carried was, as expected, majestic and boundless.

But he could even more vividly make out Chen Changsheng's technique.

That technique was just a single word.

Just a single word.

Like a great dam, like an iron chain, like the stones of a cliff, like a sword being brought up to slit the throat in suicide.

Guan Bai faintly felt a pain in his chest.

If his junior brother had been able to understand the principles behind this sword strike, taking the 'straight' from all things, how could things have reached this point?

He gazed at his bewildered schoolmates and said, "This technique—Chen Changsheng has practiced it at least ten thousand times."

The students of the Heavenly Dao Academy were perplexed. They asked, "Is just that enough?"