Song Yuan, seeing the situation, slightly raised the corner of his mouth. Without any intention of dodging, he nonchalantly raised his hand and firmly grasped the rusty broken sword.
"Hmph, after becoming a wastrel, does your Taiqing Sect not even give you a decent sword to use? Truly laughable to the extreme..."
Before Song Yuan finished his words, his brow suddenly tightened.
Because a trickle of crimson blood was slowly dripping to the ground from his palm, he was instantly stunned.
Upon closer inspection, he found that his palm had been cut open.
Unexpectedly, this broken sword picked up from some unknown corner was so sharp!
Zhou Qing, seeing this, couldn't help but show a trace of joy in his eyes.
He had bet correctly!
This seemingly unimpressive rusty broken sword was always the best disguise.
"Senior Brother, I hurt him, I hurt him..." Zhou Qing exclaimed with a joyous expression.
