White steam billowed, and sweat poured down like rain. Zhang Beixing stood enveloped in the mist, his face obscured. Only a vague outline of his figure could be discerned. Blood on his skin mingled with sweat, trickling down to the ground and splattering into beautiful crimson droplets. Wounds were faintly visible; though they looked ferocious, none were serious—merely superficial injuries.
He performed a closing movement, regulating his breath to recover his state.
After several deep breaths, Zhang Beixing's heart, which had been pounding intensely from the excitement of battle, finally calmed.
Realizing this, Zhang Beixing slowly exhaled a turbid breath. Instantly, the strange phenomenon manifesting on his body became even more pronounced.
