Acting almost purely on instinct honed by years of life-and-death battles, Zhan Fusheng suppressed his discomfort. He pushed off the ground with a sharp tap of his toes and shot backward like a startled bird, instantly retreating dozens of feet to put distance between himself and Chen Sheng.
His face was a mask of shock and uncertainty as he stared at the phantom Golden Bell, terrified that Chen Sheng would press his advantage and attack.
Yet, Chen Sheng remained standing with his hands clasped behind his back, not having moved so much as an inch. The only change was in his calm gaze, which now held a faint, almost imperceptible hint of disdain and contempt.
"Is this all you've got?"
Chen Sheng's detached voice wasn't loud, but it reached the ears of everyone on the training grounds with perfect clarity, carrying an undeniable weight of authority.
