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Yu Zhengyang finally yielded and lowered his head. He ground his teeth until several cracked. His eyes turned bloodshot, blazing like a tiger ready to rend its prey. The murderous glare he fixed on Liu Wuxie seemed sharp enough to shred him. If looks could kill, Liu Wuxie would have perished a thousand times over.
The square fell into complete silence. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the two words.
"Grandfather!" Yu Zhengyang roared, spitting a mouthful of blood. Then, he collapsed, unconscious.
The words echoed through the square and reverberated through the air. The divine senses that had lingered overhead finally dispersed; the confrontation was over.
Disciples carried Yu Zhengyang away in a pitiful state; without prompt treatment, his injury could permanently cripple his cultivation.
"Everyone, disperse!" Elder Ji commanded, his sharp gaze sweeping the crowd.
The disciples began to leave, yet...
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