Yang Ying turned to look. The speaker was a bearded man in his thirties, sitting on a chair, of average height, wearing a martial arts uniform, with a sword placed beside him.

"Did what I say make you uncomfortable?" Yang Ying asked seriously. "Of course it did.

You look down on the advanced class's swordsmanship, don't you? That means you look down on me!" The man glared, his voice gruff.

Yang Ying nodded, his expression unchanged: "Then might I ask who you are, sir?" Sensing the tension escalating, the young woman immediately interjected, introducing the man to Yang Ying: "This is Coach Tong Zhishan from the advanced class. He’s taking the Sword Master certification exam at the Swordsmen's Association next month.

Based on the assessment from Madam Xin Tianqing, the Sword Master and owner of this hall, he has an excellent chance of passing." She then turned to Tong Zhishan: "Coach Tong, this guest is just visiting for the first time. He didn't know you, so how could he look down on you?

Must you be so aggressive? You’ll scare away all future guests." Tong Zhishan paid her no mind, shouting loudly: "My ears aren't deaf!

I heard everything he said—that he looks down on the advanced class swordsmanship! We martial artists can lose our heads and shed blood, but we cannot lose this spirit!

Don't try to stop me." At this point, everyone in the coffee room turned to look. Seeing it was Tong Zhishan, their faces shifted to expressions of understanding.

Yang Ying carefully observed Tong Zhishan, noting the calluses covering his right hand and his extremely solid physique, clearly the result of rigorous training. While his physical conditioning was slightly inferior to Yang Ying’s body, which was shaped by psychic energy, for an ordinary person, he was near his physical limit.

"Hey!" Tong Zhishan bellowed, his voice echoing. "If you’re a man, stop hiding behind a woman!

Come out and fight me three hundred rounds, and I’ll show you that the advanced class isn't easy to impress!" The young woman stood helplessly before him, unsure what to do, rooted to the spot in anxiety. "Ahem...

ahem..." Yang Ying coughed twice. "Miss, since the matter has escalated this far, if I don't fight him three hundred rounds, I'll be looked down upon." He also wanted to test the skill of this aspiring Sword Master to gauge the level of his own swordsmanship in the mundane world.

The young woman turned back, her eyes filled with apology: "It’s all my fault. If I hadn't brought you to this coffee room, none of this would have happened." "How could it be your fault?

I requested the tour, and I spoke the words. There’s no way to pin this on you," Yang Ying said as he stood up.

"Please don't worry. I'll just have a spar with him.

I’m not some fragile person." "Follow me." Tong Zhishan grabbed his sword and strode out the door. Yang Ying and the young woman followed.

They arrived at the third-floor advanced class studio. About a dozen people were sparring inside.

Upon seeing Tong Zhishan return radiating hostility, they couldn't help but whisper amongst themselves, pointing at Yang Ying, who was trailing closely behind. Yang Ying, with his sharp hearing, caught their remarks.

"Look, Coach Tong is going to teach someone a lesson again." "Tsk tsk, another unlucky soul. Whoever runs into Coach Tong’s temper has bad luck." "Shh, be careful Coach Tong doesn't hear you, or you’ll get dragged into it too." "Yes, yes..." Tong Zhishan walked to a rack of weapons and gestured to Yang Ying, "Come over and select a weapon." He paused, then pointed at Yang Ying’s casual clothes, "Do you want to change into a training uniform?" "No need," Yang Ying replied, walking past him to the weapon rack.

The rack held the complete set of eighteen traditional weapons, and since the hall specialized in swordsmanship, there were over ten types of swords alone. Yang Ying selected a sword from the selection, weighed it in his hand, drew it out, and exclaimed, "Good," before turning back to compare it with the length of the other: "I'll use this one." "A Han Dynasty sword, solid and imposing, very good," Tong Zhishan nodded, drawing his own sword.

"Come on, we can start anytime." The onlookers immediately moved further away from the pair and gathered to watch. Yang Ying gripped his sword with one hand and executed a simple advance-and-slash.

A sudden whistling sound erupted. The sword in his hand felt as light as a feather, transforming into a streak of light that sliced toward Tong Zhishan.

In Tong Zhishan's eyes, this single strike was like lightning, irresistible. He roared out, raising his sword with all his strength to block horizontally in front of him.

With a deafening clang, Tong Zhishan staggered back two steps, his limbs numb. He felt the immense force transmitted through the blade and instantly realized Yang Ying’s physical conditioning surpassed his own.

His initial contempt vanished without a trace. He saw Yang Ying’s sword light circle and thrust toward him.

He frantically employed the Tai Chi Sword technique he had long mastered, guiding his blade to meet Yang Ying’s, deflecting the attack away. Yang Ying felt a pulling force on his blade, drawing it sideways.

His heart stirred. "So this is the Tai Chi Sword technique; it certainly has its subtleties." He rotated his sword, breaking free from the guiding force, and shifted into a defensive stance, intending to see what maneuvers this prospective Sword Master could deploy.

Initially, Tong Zhishan assumed Yang Ying was just an ordinary practitioner, belittling the advanced class's swordsmanship only to flaunt himself before the young woman. Now, he realized he was profoundly mistaken.

To overwhelm Yang Ying, he unleashed the full scope of the Tai Chi Sword technique—every strike formed a circle, large loops enveloping smaller ones, wrapping around Yang Ying ring by ring. However, the foundational sword forms Yang Ying had learned at the Neng Temple contained the general principles of all sword arts; both hardness/softness and circularity were embodied within those basic forms.

Yang Ying understood the principle immediately and devised a countermeasure. Though seemingly ensnared, he remained as unmovable as a mountain.

Tong Zhishan felt that although his sword had encircled the opponent's, it was like trying to tether a rope around Mount Tai—he pulled, but it wouldn't budge. He shifted tactics, applying a 'sticky sword' approach, pressing his blade against Yang Ying's, aiming to slice toward Yang Ying’s fingers.

Although Yang Ying had few real dueling experiences compared to Tong Zhishan, he possessed psychic energy. This energy granted him a powerful sixth sense, allowing him to anticipate the nature of Tong Zhishan’s attacks.

A Psionicist could use a light saber to block a laser, and an exceptional one could even reflect the laser back—this acute sixth sense was crucial for such feats. Yang Ying vibrated his sword, knocking the slicing blade aside.

He then gripped the sword with both hands, rotating it in a circle before sweeping it horizontally. Tong Zhishan regained control of his deflected blade.

Seeing the sheer momentum in Yang Ying’s horizontal sweep—a power so immense it seemed capable of cutting through anything, even if the edge were unsharpened—he immediately dropped low, simultaneously bracing his sword beneath Yang Ying’s blade, using the leverage to sink even deeper. Yang Ying’s sword swept past the back of Tong Zhishan's head, cutting off a few strands of hair, sending a wave of cold sweat through the watching crowd.

Tong Zhishan utilized the momentum from dropping low to roll backward. Upon rising, he pressed the attack again, but this time he abandoned the Tai Chi Sword, opting instead for a fast-sword offensive.

Yang Ying met speed with speed. Within five or six exchanges, he seized the upper hand.

After all, Yang Ying could predict Tong Zhishan’s sword paths even before the man initiated the quick strike, giving him an even greater advantage against the fast-sword style.