Qing Tong, his long sleeves dragging along the ground, seemed to have been smashed apart by a single punch, his body instantly splitting into two.
Qing Tong was no longer in that ethereal pose with sleeves of extraordinary length. In his place stood a Yang God external body: an old man of burly build, arms knotted with muscle, beard and hair white as snow, standing barefoot.
A hint of surprise appeared on the old man's face. His feet slid straight backward over the mirror-smooth earth for more than a dozen zhang before he stopped and shook his wrist.
Such an utterly ordinary, minute movement was like a flood dragon shaking its scales. His fist intent surged forth like rivers pouring in torrents, manifesting as a visible golden aura. His fist force was thick as water and glittered brightly, setting off this aged Martial Cultivator, who called himself half-divine, like an immortal god standing amid the incense mist of worship.
Qing Tong, who had tempered his fleshly body's toughness to its utmost limit, seemed rather astonished. A Pure Martial Artist merely at Peak Qi Flourishing First Layer—especially one who had suffered a Realm Drop from True Return First Layer as a Ten Realms martial man—possessed such tremendous strength?
Qing Tong's gaze turned playful as he glanced into the distance. The Night Roaming Longsword still hovered where it had been.
Clearly, this was an exceptionally pure exchange of fists.
Of course.
Could a sword cultivator not even at the Jade Purity Realm possibly challenge an Ascension Realm cultivator with a sword?
Would that not be inviting humiliation upon himself?
A scarlet robe stood where Qing Tong had previously been, its sleeves billowing and snapping as though the wind were crashing wildly inside them.
Compared to Qing Tong's flowing, ferocious fist intent, Chen