While Zhao Feng was busy showing off his strength and sneering, I was busy observing. I studied the way he fought in the small skirmishes against the spirit beasts we encountered. His technique was powerful and direct, relying on explosive, pure Qi. He was a disciple who relied on raw strength and proven sword formations. He was formidable, yes, but also predictable to eyes that had seen a thousand fighting styles.
His strength was like a rushing river, I thought, as I watched him effortlessly cleave a spirit bear with a dazzling sword strike. Pure and mighty, yet blind to the currents around it. Easy to dam if you know where to build the wall. I noted every movement, every gap in his defense, every pattern in his attack. I was no longer the weak Han Xiao. I was Azrael, and I was the hunt
