Growing increasingly intense, ever more fraught.
Frightened birds scattered through the woods as Min Ning suddenly twisted to the side. A falling leaf brushed against her cheek—she dodged not the leaf, but a sword tip. Spinning, she unleashed another strike; the sword edge aimed dead-straight, as though it could pierce through flesh and bone.
How many moves had she exchanged with the illusion of "Chen Yi" in her eyes?
One strike, two strikes, three strikes,
Min Ning's steps floated, faintly pressing left and then right. With narrow evasion, she traced a half arc before slashing across horizontally,
hundreds of strikes!
She felt it vividly; as time passed, "Chen Yi" grew slower, more sluggish, and increasingly muddled.
Victory seemed imminent. Min Ning's mood steadied, her momentum uninterrupted, her sword flowing with her movements in the heat of combat, the sword momentum surging further with each clash.
And then, "Chen Yi" revealed a flaw.
