Zhang Jingyun slowly sheathed his sword. Perhaps because he had performed the motion tens of thousands of years ago, or perhaps because he was relying on sheer willpower to hold himself together, even though every ounce of his strength was spent and his wounds ached fiercely, his action of returning the blade to its scabbard remained steady and composed.
After defeating Chen Xin, not the slightest ripple of emotion could be detected on Zhang Jingyun's face, as if he had known from the moment he drew his sword that Chen Xin would be unable to stop it.
He straightened his back, his posture like a pine tree, and cast a calm glance at the spectators below the platform. That stern gaze was like the biting wind of midwinter, instantly making people feel a bone-chilling cold straight through their flesh. The previously noisy crowd suddenly held their breath.
Chapter 161