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The battle was extremely stalemated. Lin Zheyu deliberately suppressed his strength and traded blows back and forth with his opponent. Below the arena, most people had placed their bets on Lin Weizhuo. Seeing Lin Weizhuo seemingly holding the upper hand, they could not help but cheer loudly. Only those standing by the betting tables remained relatively calm.
They needed to observe the martial artists' fights and, through several matches, judge a rough range of each martial artist's strength. Only then would they set the odds based on battle data. If they set odds casually, they would have gone bankrupt long ago.
"Lord Yang, do you think highly of this man?" the man in charge of this arena asked, unable to suppress his curiosity when he saw the elderly man beside him studying the newly arrived martial artist with interest.
The old man's strength was impossible to discern, and not the slightest aura fluctuation emanated from his body. He looked just like an ordinary, shabby old man. Holding a wine gourd in his right hand, he lay on a rocking chair, swaying leisurely as he examined Lin Zheyu in the arena.
"His strength is not bad. He's a young man with ideas, trying to fleece a bit from us. But...
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