From afar, Shi Jing was like a dot on top of the summit. The cold wind blew against his face, but couldn't freeze him.
His sword intent hummed, as though it was humming the tone of autumn, followed by the circulation of his spiritual essence.
With a soft whisper, he raised his silver sword, aiming at the heavens.
"A single drop conceal my sword."
His sword moved in an arc while forming a single droplet that was illusionary.
"Ten drops to form my sword intent!"
This single droplet shudder before dissipating, transforming into two, three, five, then ten drops.
It didn't stop there.
These droplet was like a living organism, replicating itself. At the same time, Shi Jing frowned at the consumption of his spiritual essence.
Finally, after the 61th drop, he stopped.
"This is my limit! At the perfection realm of the autumn stroke, I can form 61 drop. If one day, I can reach 81 drop, then that is when I step into the realm of Great-Perfection!"
