Zhao Rulíng was deeply surprised, for he had never imagined that Meng Zhao's methods would be so brilliant, or that his use of Primordial Spirit Power would be so exquisite—far beyond his expectations.
In his estimation, Meng Zhao's cultivation of a Primordial Spirit was already a feat of bold and vigorous advancement. Whether through a fortuitous encounter or his own talent, he was surely strong in force but lacking in finesse. No matter how profound his foundations were, he would ultimately lack a measure of smooth completeness.
Indeed, when Meng Zhao assisted him in removing the foreign Primordial Spirit this time, he had already prepared himself mentally. Even if his Primordial Spirit Power suffered some slight damage, it could slowly be restored through cultivation. That was still better than having this foreign Primordial Spirit constantly gripping him by the throat and endlessly shaking his foundations.
Yet Meng Zhao's performance had greatly exceeded his expectations. His Primordial Spirit Power transformed into a sharp blade and, almost in the manner of Butcher Dissecting Ox, carved the foreign Primordial Spirit out of his own. The harm done to his Yin Yang Primordial Spirit could practically be ignored.
It could even be said that Meng Zhao had spared him a great deal of trouble.
All he could say was that he had not been wrong this time—he had truly found the right person. Had it been another Celestial martial artist, even if they could have helped him, they might not have done so with such deftness, saving him countless amounts of effort and time.
Although Meng Zhao had now drawn his Primordial Spirit Power back into the Thunder Pattern Vertical Pupil between his brows, he stood rooted in place, blankly immersed in a wondrous state of enlightenment. Black and white qi flickered within his