Xie Fuyun, with three blooms of blood mist exploding behind him, let out a shrill cry. He had never imagined that, with his cultivation and Daoist Arts, he would be severely wounded by these people from Cihang Zhai in a single exchange—and these people had clearly already been badly injured by Qi Lianliancheng. As he cried out, he turned toward Shen Feirong, his eyes filled with boundless fury, seeming to demand why Shen Feirong had not acted.
But the instant he turned to look at Shen Feirong, the fury in his eyes vanished without cause, because Shen Feirong had already made his move.
An ink-black chrysanthemum no larger than the mouth of a bowl shot from Shen Feirong's hand. This ink-black chrysanthemum, likewise formed from Daoist Arts, appeared exceedingly slow, yet in an instant it shattered the power Yun Yuan and the others had merged together, power like several invisible heavenly swords. At that instant, Yun Yuan sprayed out a mouthful of blood mist. With Luo Bei unconscious, the people of Cihang Zhai had naturally taken Yun Yuan as their leader. Invisibly, this conformed to the essence of the Jing Nian Xin Deng Formation. As they merged the power of Cihang Zhai's people together, Yun Yuan was also the guiding sword tip. Thus, when Shen Feirong's counterattack came, Yun Yuan bore the brunt of it.
And the moment Yun Yuan spat out that mouthful of blood mist, her pupils abruptly constricted. At that moment, a crimson figure suddenly rushed toward the black radiance—the ink-black chrysanthemum formed from the radiance Shen Feirong had fired from his hand.
That crimson figure, tall and beautiful, with a slender, lovely neck white as snow visible from where Yun Yuan stood, was Xiao Cha.
She was going to block Shen Feirong's attack.
After smashing apart