When that streak of sword light soared forth, it was bright yet not dazzling, like the gentle radiance of the moon cascading down.
Among the nine cultivators—men and women—present, in that split second, all felt their Dharma Swords grow slightly heavier, their vision filled with chaotic flashes of golden light. A biting chill surged toward their faces, startling them so thoroughly that they hastily retreated.
It was only after they withdrew ten steps that the sword light abruptly dissipated. Zhang Yan, however, remained standing in place, unmoving, his expression unchanged—as if he had not made a move at all.
"Where is Chu'er? Where is Junior Sister Chu'er?"
