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“Good punch,” Li Minghuang praised.
“You’re too kind,” Qi Xuansu replied, still smiling.
Both men had come from humble beginnings, and both hailed from Tiangang Hall. However, their ages differed by ten years, which could be considered a generational gap.
Li Minghuang gave a light push, and Qi Xuansu let go of his wrist, drifting backward with ease.
It seemed like an even match, though Qi Xuansu’s first strike had a suspicious hint of ambush about it.
It was practical, but hardly elegant.
Some people within the Daoist Order prized “refined grace” above all. They would rather die than sacrifice their dignity.
This probably came from the Confucian gentry’s flair for refinement. They were the ones who liked to transcend the mundane. For example, it was common sense that one would pursue the art of longevity for eternal life and power. But a refined and graceful reason would be seeking longevity not for power, but for the freedom of choice.
Other examples include rejecting ascension for...
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