This was a pair of clear eyes, hidden behind a window.
They reflected the tragic scene currently unfolding on Zhuque Street.
The next second, the eyes gradually closed.
It was unknown how much time had passed.
"I have caught that Qi," Zhao Rong said with his eyes closed.
The blood-soaked man had, in those three seconds of life-burning, extended his last finger.
Stabbing the sword furnace.
Zhao Rong was incredibly familiar with it, as he had practiced it millions of times.
But that finger had still deeply imprinted itself in his heart.
Was it the Fist Stance which Brother Sanbian advised me to watch carefully before he left this morning?
At this moment, the Qi and blood within Zhao Rong's body involuntarily trembled, his Qi was extremely chaotic, like a swarm of headless flies crashing around.
"… What, what did you say?"
With her mouth covered and eyes red, Su Xiaoxiao looked up at the young Confucian Scholar, who was standing calmly with his eyes closed beside the window.