A seemingly bland palm strike, yet it carried the force of mountains collapsing and earth splitting. Zhang He's facial features contorted together, his body uncontrollably falling backward.
Just as Zhang He's head was about to collide with the ground, two streams of True Qi hit the floor, forcefully propping his robust body back up.
Taoist Xuan Ji naturally did not give Zhang He a chance to catch his breath; he followed up with a palm strike carrying afterimages directly aimed at Zhang He's face. If successful, this palm would shatter Zhang He's entire head.
The phantom of the Red Dragon rushed over, helping Zhang He successfully block Taoist Xuan Ji's palm strike.
Cold sweat poured down Zhang He's forehead. He retreated several steps to stabilize himself and looked towards Taoist Xuan Ji, not daring to be negligent again.
Taoist Xuan Ji stared at the phantom of the Red Dragon and muttered inwardly, "It seems I need to deal with you, beast, first!"
