Those two moves were the proof—Chen Yi was kept firmly at bay, no closer than two zhang from her the entire time.
The gun, a weapon of precision and balance, triumphs over one hundred other arms. In the Jianghu, those rogues who wield swords and knives often boast that while a gun is formidable, in the thick of bloody battle, swords and knives are more advantageous.
Yet, what is a bloody battle, if not killing your foe from two zhang away with a gun?
A true master of the gun takes lives without letting a sword-wielder even breach their range. What purpose, then, does a blade serve in such hands?
Thus, Qin Qingluo had viewed him from beginning to end as no more than a whetstone.
Swords and knives—the courage of mere brutes.
"Keep swinging your blade." Qin Qingluo smiled, still brimming with energy.
A shadow surged forth, the overwhelming force of Chen Yi's blade accompanying his words. His speed suddenly soared, causing Qin Qingluo's pupils to contract sharply.
