Wukong looked at him with disdain. "Tch. You want to run away, is that it?"
Qing Long didn't respond, but his silence spoke volumes. There was nothing left to gain from continuing this confrontation. Yet, this thought only fueled Wukong's fury. The idea that the spectators might see him cornered wounded his pride. His instincts screamed at him to keep fighting, but a voice echoed in his mind.
"A trump card must remain hidden for life-or-death situations," his late mother had once said. "Never let anyone know your limits."
Swallowing his rage, he slowly lowered his staff. He was about to leave when a glint of light caught his attention.
A spear, blazing with blinding radiance, sliced through the air toward his throat. His reflexes saved him at the last second, but the weapon left a searing trail across his skin.
"Damn...!" he growled.
The one who had attacked him clearly had no intention of stopping the fight.
