Black qi spread through the air, while white light rippled outward.1

Fei Chingyi rode the wind upward, sword in hand, and halted among the clouds. The black-robed youth before him barely spared him a glance, his gaze drifting lightly past to settle on Cui Jueyin instead. With a casual lift of his sword, he handled the three of them as if the battle were nothing more than a game.0

This was not particularly unusual. From the lake to Mount Tangdao, whether it was cultivators from the Purple Smoke Gate or the Great Xiukui Temple[1], all looked down on him. Rogue cultivators at the Foundation Establishment Realm might give him a bit of respect, but even guest cultivators of the Supreme Yang Dao lineage could treat him like a joke.0

But things were different now. The opponent's sword strikes were all directed at An Siwei, battering the old man until he could barely endure it. Though he seemed to ignore...0