Fang Che smiled on the platform, cupping his hands sincerely, "Thank you for giving way, Brother Mo."
Then he stepped down steadily,
His stride firm, his expression as cool and detached as ever.
The Infinite Scripture quietly circulated, washing over the meridians in his legs time and again as his injuries slowly healed.
Taking the large cloak that Fang Qingyun passed to him, he draped it over his shoulders and stood in the front row of the crowd, watching the stage.
It was clear he intended to watch his opponents' battles.
He stood tall and straight, firm and unyielding. He seemed utterly unconcerned about the leg that had collided over seven hundred times, or perhaps it simply had no effect on him.
With this, everyone immediately realized the outcome of this battle, who had won and who had lost.
It was obvious at a glance.
Indeed, Mo Gan Yun had lost.
