Qing King clenched his fists, resting them against his chest, breathing heavily.
For someone like him, whose body cultivation had nearly reached its peak, such injuries should be nothing; a simple circulation of qi-blood would restore him to his original state.
But now, crimson blossoms of blood were bursting open on his chest, blood flowing incessantly, unable to heal.
Because at this moment, his wounds were filled with raging sword intent, lingering, preventing his qi-blood from circulating.
As long as the sword intent remains, the qi-blood will not flow.
Qing King raised his arm again, but this time he did not throw a punch but rather wiped away the blood trickling from either his mouth or nose.
