A family of loyal martyrs, starting with nine wives to continue the family line.

Liu Jingshuang fired her gun first.

Without any fancy opening moves, the white wax spear drew a straight arc, its tip heading straight for Wei Zhao's left shoulder.

Fast. Accurate. Ruthless.

This is the intuition honed through thirteen years of marksmanship—the shortest distance, the smallest amplitude, the most lethal angle.

Wei Zhao dodged to the side, his spear shaft held horizontally, and it struck Liu Jingshuang's spear with a "clang".

The force wasn't great; it was just enough to deflect the tip of her spear by half an inch.

Liu Jingshuang's phoenix eyes narrowed slightly.

She deduced information from the force of that block.

Wei Zhao was testing the waters.

Instead of pursuing, she slowed down her pace, flicked the tip of her spear, and thrust out a second shot.

This shot was half a beat slower than the previous one, and the angle was deliberately left open—it wasn't a lapse in concentration, but rather a preparation.

She wanted to see exactly how much her brother-in-law had eaten.

Wei Zhao understood perfectly well what was going on.

Liu Jingshuang didn't rush to kill him; instead, she seemed to be giving him pointers.

Seeing this, Wei Zhao was not in a hurry to exert his full strength.

Therefore, he held back seven-tenths of his strength, engaging in a simple gunfight with Liu Jingshuang.

And with Liu Jingshuang's constant instruction, he gradually gained a deeper understanding of the Wei family spear technique.

There's no rush to win, nor is there a rush to prove anything.

Focus all your attention on Liu Jingshuang's gunplay—the timing of her thrusts, the angle at which she retracts her gun, the pattern of her footwork, and the way she distributes her strength.

A thousand and one's intelligence breaks down this information into the finest particles and stuffs them into the brain for digestion.

The sound of two white wax spears clashing echoed across the training ground, gradually increasing in speed and then decreasing again.

The patrolling taxi drivers nearby had already stopped and formed a circle around them from a distance, not daring to utter a sound.

Huo Qingluan stood at the edge of the training ground, her arms crossed over her chest, her cold eyes fixed on the center of the field.

Su Qingyun spat out sunflower seed shells all over the ground, her speed of cracking them perfectly synchronized with the gunshots on the field.

One hundred moves.

Wei Zhao's spear technique began to change.

Previously, he only parried, deflected, blocked, and countered attacks, and his movements were noticeably clumsy.

But after the hundredth move, his gun started to "get the hang of it".

Liu Jingshuang sensed it.

She thrust out her spear, but Wei Zhao didn't block it head-on like before. Instead, she lowered the spear and slid it past her shaft from below, using the momentum to her advantage. The spear tip drew a tiny arc—like a snake spitting its tongue.

This is the third move of the Wei Family Spear Technique.

Liu Jingshuang's phoenix eyes flickered. She hadn't taught him this move.

He figured it out himself from her shooting habits.

Two hundred moves.

Wei Zhao's marksmanship no longer resembled that of someone who had just started learning.

Although the transitions between moves are still a bit rough, the timing and angle of each shot are becoming more and more accurate.

Liu Jingshuang even started to have to take his shots seriously—not because of the force, but because his shooting style was too tricky.

Is this guy using her moves against her?

Liu Jingshuang's lips twitched. A feeling she couldn't quite describe—pride? Annoyance? Or resentment?

She quickened her pace.

Three hundred moves.

"Hoo—" Liu Jingshuang took half a step back, the tip of her spear touching the ground, her shoulders rising and falling slightly.

She started to pant.

It wasn't that she was physically exhausted; it was the intense exchange of three hundred moves that put a considerable strain on her heart and lungs, even though she only used seventy or eighty percent of her strength.

After all, she was just a mortal, not made of iron.

She looked up at the opposite side.

Wei Zhao stood three steps away, his white wax spear propped diagonally on the ground. His breathing was steady, his face neither flushed nor out of breath, and not a single drop of sweat appeared on his forehead.

Liu Jingshuang frowned.

She fought for thirteen years, and saw both fierce generals with immense strength and masters with profound inner strength.

But she had never seen a monster that could fight three hundred moves and still be completely unharmed.

What exactly is hidden in that Taoist temple, Qingyang Palace? Could there really be living immortals there?

She remembered clearly how sickly the young master used to be, even breathing heavily when he walked.

The person standing in front of her now shows no trace of his sickly appearance.

"Aren't you tired?" Liu Jingshuang asked.

Wei Zhao smiled.

"Not tired."

He said it so naturally, as if he were saying, "The weather is nice today."

Liu Jingshuang gave him a deep look. She gripped the gun barrel tightly, preparing to continue—

"Shuang Jing".

Wei Zhao's voice suddenly changed.

It wasn't the same gentle tone that had been before, one that sounded somewhat like someone seeking advice.

Rather, it's a kind of cold that settles down, like a blade peeking out from its sheath.

"I learned."

Liu Jingshuang stopped moving.

"Now, I'm going to go all out."

Liu Jingshuang was stunned for a second.

All-out effort?

The previous three hundred moves... weren't at full strength?

Before she could even speak, Wei Zhao had already started walking.

Just one step.

Liu Jingshuang's pupils suddenly contracted—no, he wasn't coming for her.

The white wax spear left a trail of afterimages in mid-air.

"Bang!"

The thick wooden stake at the edge of the training ground was pierced by a single shot.

The spearhead pierced through the back of the wooden stake, bringing with it a cloud of wood chips.

The entire wooden stake split open in the middle, with the upper half crookedly falling down while the lower half remained stuck in the ground.

The wood fibers at the break point were all bursting outwards—not from being pierced, but from being forced apart from the inside by force.

The drill ground was deathly quiet.

Liu Jingshuang's hands were trembling.

It's not from being tired.

It was the sensation of the airflow from the gunshot brushing against her cheek as it passed by—like a knife slicing across her skin.

If that shot hadn't been aimed at the wooden stake, but at her instead...

Can she handle it?

I couldn't catch it.

After calming down, Liu Jingshuang gave this answer.

Too fast, too powerful.

She didn't even see how the spear tip pierced through—by the time her eyes caught up, the stake had already shattered.

First-class realm.

These two words came to Liu Jingshuang's mind. She had heard the old lady mention that the highest martial artist in the world was only of the second rank.

The highest rank is a legendary realm that no one has reached in the last hundred years.

She watched as Wei Zhao pulled the gun out of the broken wooden stake. With a slight shake of his arm, the fragments on the gun tip fell off cleanly and neatly.

At the edge of the training ground, Huo Qingluan lowered her hands from her chest.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out; however, her clear, cold eyes were filled with disbelief.

Su Qingyun dropped the melon seeds in her hand.

She stared blankly at the broken wooden stake, not picking it up for a long time.

Wei Zhao turned around and looked at Liu Jingshuang.

"Jing Shuang, I won."

His tone was flat, but his confidence was as strong as the foundation of a city wall.

Liu Jingshuang remained silent for a few seconds. She tucked the white wax spear back to her side, resting the butt of the spear on the ground.

"You win."

There was no resentment on her face when she said those three words.

A true martial artist will not act unreasonably in the face of an absolute difference in strength.

She lost, and that's that; there's no point in making excuses.

You are better than me.

Liu Jingshuang looked at him, the scrutinizing look in her phoenix eyes completely gone.

Instead, there was a heartfelt recognition: "You are qualified to leave the city."

Wei Zhao smiled.

It wasn't the same gentle, polite smile as before.

Instead, it's a more relaxed smile with the corners of the mouth twitching.

"Even Jing Shuang was not discouraged."

Liu Jingshuang raised an eyebrow.

Wei Zhao slung the white wax spear over his shoulder, his tone carrying a hint of roguishness.

"If I can't be the number one warrior in the world, I can still work hard and strive to be the number two."

Liu Jingshuang's face darkened.

A suppressed laugh came from the edge of the training ground—it was Su Qingyun who couldn't hold back.

Huo Qingluan's lips twitched slightly, though she tried her best to keep her expressionless.