"Your qualifications are too poor, and you will be just a handyman for the rest of your life."
Shi Jian was given a medicinal bath, blocked at the alley, and stepped on in the mud.
He didn't argue or resist, he just let his clone practice the sword in his mental space every night - once, ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times.
Three years later.
The people from the Tiger Martial Arts School blocked him, and the warriors in the early stages of Qi and Blood sneered and wanted to kill him.
Shi Jian drew his sword.
Three knives.
When the opponent fell, he didn't even see clearly how he took action.
——What's wrong with the poor qualifications?
Others practice it once, I practice it thousands of times.
No matter how talented you are, can you compare to my clone who works day and night?
