He couldn't help but look at Yang Jing again, deeply etching that young yet composed face into his memory.
'A man like that is destined for greatness. I must never, ever offend him.'
The bulky man and the lean man felt their hearts tremble as they watched, but their own attacks only grew more ferocious. It was as if Yang Jing's power had infected them, and they slaughtered the surrounding bandits until they were screaming for their mothers and fathers.
Meanwhile, Yang Jing intercepted Li Qianxiong, his assault growing even more ferocious.
Li Qianxiong was already no match for Yang Jing. Now, with a grievous shoulder injury that left him barely able to lift his left arm, the power of his Mountain-Splitting Palm was greatly diminished, making him look even more pathetic.
He could only rely on his Iron Cloth Shirt to endure the blows while struggling to block with one palm, his footing unsteady as he was forced to retreat again and again.
