The afternoon sun filtered through the bare branches, casting scattered, dappled shadows on the stone slabs of the Guest Reception Courtyard.
A cold wind, carrying the faint scent of the lake, swept through the courtyard but couldn't disperse the steam rising from Yang Jing's body.
Dressed in simple martial attire, he practiced the Mountain-Shattering Fist over and over in an open area of the courtyard. Each and every move was steady and powerful.
The wind from his fists whistled with a low, tearing sound. He was exceptionally focused with every punch thrown and retracted.
But a flicker of concern, almost imperceptible, would occasionally cross his eyes. He was clearly still preoccupied with whether he could join the Xuanzhen Sect, and an undercurrent of restless anxiety tainted his movements.
Just then, a sudden KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK at the courtyard gate sounded particularly abrupt in the quiet afternoon.
