Lin Fan and Zhu Qilue are in the midst of a skirmish.
Although it's called a skirmish, only Lin Fan is actively attacking. Zhu Qilue, with his hands casually behind his back, deftly dodges every attack from Lin Fan and easily defuses every danger.
It's as if he's playing with a three-year-old, not taking it seriously at all.
Lin Fan, however, hasn't given up. The Xuanyuan Sword glides like a dragon, each time almost touching Zhu Qilue, yet always falling just short.
"Your sword is too slow."
After sidestepping Lin Fan's thrust, Zhu Qilue said with an immensely smug smile.
However.
He suddenly noticed that Lin Fan had halted his movements, his eyes grave, brows furrowed, gazing out towards the crowd.
Lin Fan abruptly stopped attacking!
Zhu Qilue was taken aback, unaware of what Lin Fan was looking at, so he followed Lin Fan's gaze but saw nothing.
"What are you looking at?" he asked curiously.
