Enveloped by that icy murderous intent, Zong Dingfang felt his scalp tingle and his body hair stand on end, as if he had fallen into a frozen abyss. Despite his years of fame and countless duels—no less than eighty if not a hundred—this was the first time he truly felt the threat of death so vividly.
In a rush, he barely had time to dodge, or more accurately, there was no fleeing Mu Hanyan's bizarrely unpredictable and swift sword. No matter how he tried to evade, he couldn't escape the edge of her blade.
The only thing he could do was continue the motion he had started, thrusting his sword toward Mu Hanyan. It wasn't that he wanted to perish alongside Mu Hanyan, but he simply had no other choice. He couldn't just do nothing and wait for death to claim him.
His strike did have some effect. The blade grazed over Mu Hanyan's shoulder, splattering a trail of blood, while her sword slightly trembled and then pierced his chest, missing his heart meridian by a mere fraction.
