Faced with Yi Guoxin's supremely confident provocation, Xiang Yang indeed felt a surge of anger. To speak so insolently, to demand that Xiang Yang kneel before another—it was simply courting death.
Ever since his martial arts had reached great completion, anyone who had dared speak to him like that had grass more than three feet high growing over their grave.
Yet Xiang Yang did not seek to suppress or dispel that anger. Instead, he slowly calmed and blended it, melting it into every inch of his skin and every cell of his body, filling them all with scorching heat and bringing them wholly to life.
His features were solemn, his gaze bright, his expression increasingly tranquil, and his breathing ever more measured. He looked cold and hard as an unyielding stone, yet the fierce battle intent within his entire being had been roused.
Anger, grief, and hatred could all stimulate a person's potential. Properly heightened emotions could also draw out greater combat strength. As a master tactician, Xiang Yang understood this principle deeply.
Though he looked down on Yi Guoxin, spoiled young masters often possessed their own heaven-given advantages. At the very least, when facing Tiger King Yi Feixuan standing behind him, Xiang Yang did not dare be the slightest bit careless. Even a lion used its full strength to fight a rabbit; he would never allow himself to capsize in a gutter.
He neither answered nor cursed back. Xiang Yang had already resolved to make Yi Guoxin bind himself in his own cocoon.
Yi Guoxin struck first. He had always been domineering, self-centered, and forceful in his conduct, and even his martial arts carried an aggressive, pressing air.
He casually drew the Crimson Abyss Divine Blade from his waist. As true qi poured into it, its hum rose and