Old Man of Snow Ridge Mountain

Xiang Yang unleashed the true qi of his Heavenly Frost Fist. Even without spiritual energy to bolster it, it remained a peerlessly fierce fist art. The fist wind howled, its force as heavy as a mountain, sweeping forward with no mercy whatsoever and not the slightest thought of cherishing a delicate flower.

Facing this punch, Ning Xue's oval face turned pale as paper in an instant. Her eyes were filled with terror, yet still held unyielding defiance. She struck out with her palm, looking as though she would bite Xiang Yang even if it killed her.

Yet just as Ning Xue threw everything into one desperate gamble, an endless wellspring of power suddenly surged within her body—icy, grim, savage, and steeped in killing intent. Stimulated by the fierce gusts battering the skin across her body, it circulated without cease before pouring forth through Ning Xue herself.

With a booming explosion, as though a bomb had been dropped upon the spot, a massive wave of earth more than ten zhang long erupted where fist and palm met. As it rolled toward both sides, pebbles and shattered stones were ground into dust.

The force traveled onward, blasting across the waters of nearby Thunder Lake and throwing up several columns of water a zhang high.

Xiang Yang was actually driven back three steps by that palm strike. He dispersed the force beneath his feet, leaving footprints an inch deep with every step.

His expression flickered with shock and uncertainty. How could a little girl with ordinary palm techniques and pitiful cultivation unleash such solid, terrifying palm force?

Ning Xue was sent flying more than ten meters, blood spilling from her mouth. Her once playful cloud-coiled bun burst apart, black hair cascading down like a waterfall, lending her whole person a breathtakingly sickly beauty.