"Understood!" Jianheng yelled back, eagerly adjusting his footing and launching a devastating uppercut into the tree trunk.
Wen Shiru, the calculating, luxury-obsessed Fox, was currently doing rapid, continuous, one-armed pushups in a puddle of highly toxic, glowing blue muck.
His silver spectacles were taped to his head with a piece of torn silk, and he was muttering rapid-fire mercantile equations under his breath to maintain his rhythm.
"Three hundred and two... the compounding interest of physical exertion yields a net positive return on Qi-circulation... three hundred and three... pain is merely the currency of ascension!" Shiru gasped, sweat pouring down his pale face.
