Ling Xiao endured the severe pain, his face pale as paper, with beads of sweat as large as beans rolling down from his forehead.
He lowered his head to glance at the still burning wound on his chest, then looked at the panicked disciples around him, and the anger in his heart erupted like a volcano.
He gritted his teeth and roared, "You little bastard, if you have the guts, come out! What kind of skill is hiding? Be a man and confront me head-on!"
His voice was hoarse and weak, yet filled with unwillingness and anger.
Gu Sheng's voice, ghostly and unpredictable, came from all directions, with a hint of mocking sarcasm: "Old fool, are you praising me for being smart? I simply don't have the guts; only people like you, so-called righteous folks, would stand foolishly without moving and take a beating."
He paused, his tone full of disdain, "As for me, I've always liked to solve problems in the most effective way, that's called strategy, understood?"
