Luo Cang did more than just talk. As he spoke, he casually pulled out a very thin and long iron spike from the side of the wheelchair, and with one hand, he steered the wheelchair into the rain, giving Luo Jiujiang a good demonstration.

Luo Jiujiang watched as Luo Cang danced with the bamboo-thin thorn, creating a vast screen. From the moment he launched his first move, Luo Cang's body and the iron thorn vanished into an indistinct afterimage. Astonished, Luo Jiujiang took a step closer to Luo Cang, confirming that he had truly not used any spiritual energy.

When Luo Cang retreated back to the eaves and held up the big black umbrella again, he was dry from head to toe, not even the tips of his nails were wet.

Luo Jiujiang was truly convinced this time, and the vague doubt in his heart about Luo Cang, which he had never expressed out loud, about "what else can he teach me besides sound killing", disappeared completely.

A ready-made example was right in front of him. Without saying a word, Luo Jiujiang drew the sword from his waist and made a move in the heavy rain.

The blade was sharp, but it could not cut through the rushing rain curtain; the sword energy was murderous, but it could not intimidate the silent world.

Luo Cang watched Luo Jiujiang swinging his sword continuously in the heavy rain, and a smile slowly formed on his face.

This child's talent and understanding were among the best he had ever encountered. This was both a good thing and a bad thing. Among his peers, Luo Jiujiang had almost no rivals. If this continued, it would inevitably lead to him developing a sense of arrogance.

There is actually a better way than taking him to experience real life and death in order to eliminate his budding arrogance.

Before Luo Jiujiang realized it, Luo Cang had already thought a lot for him. At this moment, Luo Cang found a lifelong opponent for Luo Jiujiang, and this opponent was called nature.

Luo Jiujiang had long been proficient in swordplay. But reaching Luo Cang's impenetrable skill required more effort. Luo Jiujiang had already reached his maximum speed from the start, using a fast-paced approach to counter the rain curtain. Luo Cang observed his moves coldly, "You'll have to slow down in a moment."

He was right. This almost breathtaking speed didn't block all the raindrops, but it did cause Luo Jiujiang to lose control. And once the speed slowed down, Luo Jiujiang could no longer use the sword shadow to shield himself.

There was no point in continuing. Luo Jiujiang simply put away his knife and stood in the rain, thinking alone.

Is he slow? He is indeed slow. If he wasn't slow, Luo Cangyu wouldn't have found so many flaws in his swordsmanship before, and he wouldn't have been unable to stop the rain curtain.

But can you really achieve such a speed that water can't penetrate it just by swinging a sword?

Luo Jiujiang raised his head. The rainstorm had no eyes and no sympathy. The bean-sized raindrops hit his face equally, causing pain on his skin.

These water droplets were really fast and accurate. Luo Jiujiang wondered: Why are they so fast?

Because of savings.

When they first descended from the sky, they certainly weren't as fast as they are now. But the thousand-foot height gave them the power and space to accumulate, so they flew faster and faster, until now, the space between heaven and earth was covered with a curtain of water.

Without accumulation, no matter how fast he started, it would be difficult to sustain. But if he had saved himself a bit of power to propel himself forward with each swing of the sword, the result might not have been the same.

As for how to store this power... Luo Jiujiang smiled and cast his eyes on the stone slabs in the courtyard.

Luo Cang's movements were so swift that they were indistinct, leaving only a blurry afterimage. Trying to copy him was wishful thinking. But his movements formed a perfect circle. The synchronised pauses in his movements left deep marks on the bluestone slabs, three metres deep into the ground, as etched by the wheelchair.

There is no clearer reminder than this.

Luo Jiujiang swung his sword again. This time, it was not as fast as before, but when Luo Cang saw his stance, a hint of a smile appeared in his eyes.

With each strike, Luo Jiujiang's blade grew faster and faster. Simultaneously, following the circular arc of his blade and employing specific footwork, the inertia built up in each strike acted like a grip on his wrist, propelling him forward even faster.

That's it. Luo Jiujiang thought: He had grasped that "fast" a little bit.

Luo Jiujiang continued to pursue the inspiration of "speed" that kept him hanging until he was exhausted.

This sword practice session ended with Luo Jiujiang's arms feeling like they were filled with lead and unable to lift. He gasped for air, the cold rain mixing with his sweat, making him look like a water ghost who had just crawled out of a lake. His black hair was soaked with water, clinging to his cheeks and scalp, making him look extremely disheveled.

Despite his awkward appearance, Luo Jiujiang was filled with joy. He could sense that his current strength, at least in terms of speed, was completely different from before.

At this moment, recalling his previous swordsmanship, the first thought that popped into Luo Jiujiang's mind was: "Slow! Too slow!"

Seeing Luo Jiujiang leaning on the ground with his knife and even his eyes a little dazed, Luo Cang waved to Luo Jiujiang and motioned him to come under his umbrella.

When Luo Jiujiang managed to move his body and walked over, Luo Cang threw a water bag into his arms: "Drink it, don't get sick."

"What is it? A magic medicine, a nectar?" Luo Jiujiang forced himself to make a joke, and slowly put the knife back into the sheath with his arm, which was shaking violently due to fatigue, and then unscrewed the lid with his wet and slippery fingers with great effort.

He just tilted his head back to take a sip, and the cold liquid choked Luo Jiujiang and made him cough: "Ahem, sir, I'm still drunk from my last meal, and you're giving me more to drink?"

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