Under the moonlight.
In the center of the little courtyard.
The exhilaration of breaking through to transforming strength flowed through his entire body like a warm current.
Yang Jing felt as though he had inexhaustible strength. The joy of stepping into a whole new realm made it impossible for him to stop. Surely even the greatest pleasures in the world could offer no more than this.
He continued to focus, practicing the Mountain Collapse Fist over and over.
Beneath the moonlight, his figure moved like a tireless spinning top, his Fist Wind sometimes fierce as exploding thunder, sometimes weighty as a towering mountain.
Transforming strength flowed beyond his body, leaving faint white trails as it rubbed against the air. Every punch struck a shallow crater into the snow-covered ground.
He immersed himself in the sensation of his soaring power. His movements grew increasingly seamless, and without realizing it, he became more adept at wielding transforming strength.
Only when the moon reached its zenith, at the deepest hour of the night, did Yang Jing feel aching soreness throughout his limbs. Most of the transforming strength in his dantian had been depleted, and he finally brought his movements slowly to a halt.
He stood in the courtyard, panting heavily, the white clouds of his breath swiftly dispersing in the cold air.
By the moonlight, he looked down at his hands. The thick calluses built up through years of practicing his punches seemed even tougher now, and a faint but pure thread of energy lingered around his fingertips.
As he carefully sensed the changes within him, Yang Jing's heart filled with delight.
The quality of his internal energy had become entirely different, refined into threads and circulating several times faster than hidden strength.
His endurance far surpassed what it had once been. Previously,