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Some emotions did not belong to just him. They rose up from the original owner of this body, or perhaps simply from the blood they shared. Most days He Lingchuan could keep those feelings firmly pressed down, but in moments like this, when danger struck without warning, they surged up all the same.
Hong Chenglue forced the churning blood in his chest back under control and pushed down the wild true energy rampaging through his meridians. With a few absentminded swings, he cut down several nearby enemies, then glanced toward where He Chunhua had fallen.
The official’s figure was hidden under layers of bodies. He could not see a thing.
Not that he needed to. He knew very well how deadly that strike had been. At the very least, He Chunhua’s neck should have been half severed.
That feeling of a blade shearing through throat and bone—he knew it down to the smallest nuance.
Just then, wind roared above his head.
The enormous golden-armored copper man moved again, one massive fist crashing down toward his skull.
Hong Chenglue rolled hard across the ground to evade it, mud and blood splashing around him. When he sprang back to his feet, he found himself staring straight into He Lingchuan’s eyes.
Blood trickled from the corner of the young man’s mouth. His gaze was like ice.
Didn’t I slice the golden-armored copper man’s head off? Why can it still move?
Before the thought finished...
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