Ning Zhuo withdrew his gaze.
He lightly patted the Green Forest Python Chariot, and the mechanical carriage slowly descended.
Like a python, the carriage's shaft glided over the ground of the martial arts arena, its mechanical clicks as soft as silkworms eating leaves.
Soon, it arrived at the edge of the martial arts arena.
Ning Zhuo put away the ancient zither, stood up from the carriage, his moon-white robe gently swaying like a drifting cloud over emerald waters.
He dismounted from the Green Forest Python Chariot, not turning back, and with a gentle wave of his hand, the chariot transformed into a stream of light and disappeared into his storage waist belt.
He walked down from the martial arts arena, his steps unhurried and composed.
In the eyes of the spectators, Ning Zhuo's expression was calm and composed, neither arrogant as a victor nor weary from battle.
