As for the person Meng Konghua, he is over six feet tall, his hair spread out like a pitch-black cascade, his face showing no wrinkles, unable to discern his true age.
Only a pair of deep eyes that convey the sediment of time.
He wears a simple gray robe, holding a black longsword, appearing no different from a regular Jianghu swordsman.
Without further ado, he employs his lightweight skill, and with a fluttering of robes, quickly strides through the air towards the Winged Tiger.
"Roar!"
The Winged Tiger's eyes show a wary look, its Beast King's intuition sensing that Meng Konghua is not to be trifled with.
Irs bloodthirsty mouth opens wide, launching three crescent-shaped cyan light blades simultaneously, aiming to strike Meng Konghua midair.
With a 'zing' sound, Meng Konghua's treasured sword is drawn.
The silver sword tip emits a far more solid than other martial artists, almost tangible white light, extending over three feet, nearly longer than the sword itself.
"Break!"
