Although Sun Wutian had suppressed his cultivation, he was still fighting to his heart's content.
He couldn't help but keep shouting in praise as the fight went on.
"Good Sword!"
"This move is not bad!"
"This move is even better!"
"What a rush!"
They rolled and tumbled, like two earth Dragons, coiling and clashing through the mountain forest.
No one knew how much time had passed.
Fang Che let out a long laugh: "Hahahahaha..."
His body drifted back, drawing a great flower of Sword-light the size of a fighting drum, and with a clang, he sheathed the Sword.
He laughed and said: "Senior, how many moves was that?"
Sun Wutian froze for a moment.
He had genuinely forgotten how many moves it had been.
But he had a rough idea in his heart—one hundred moves? They'd passed that long ago!
He frowned and thought for a moment, letting each Sword move flash through his mind one by one, then suddenly raised his head: "Good kid, that was one hundred and seventy-seven moves!"
