Xu Yi struggled to imagine a tragic scene. An image flashed through his mind, and he was back in the imperial grounds of Great Yue. That familiar, sorrowful face once more appeared in his heart.
In an instant, profound grief surged like a mighty river, flowing straight into his heart.
The lively scene fell silent in a flash. Everyone found themselves reliving the sorrowful memories of their lives, an unending grief welling in their hearts.
Wang Yao was shaken to his core. Even he couldn't stop the tragic scenes from his childhood from surfacing: his father's grisly death, his widowed mother's humiliation.
With a retch, Wang Yao spat out a mouthful of blood. His embroidered sword shuddered, and every speck of rust fell away, revealing a blade that gleamed with a cold light sharp enough to pierce the eye.
Wang Yao stared fixedly at Xu Yi, the fighting spirit in his heart burning ever brighter. He said in a ringing voice, "Good! Very good! Who would have thought someone in the mortal world could cultivate their intent to such a degree that it invades the soul? It seems that, before Xiong Bei Ming, I've found someone worthy of making me use the Dust Sword."
The cold light radiating from the Dust Sword was nearly enough to pierce the eye.
Xu Yi's eyes throbbed with pain, and he immediately emerged from the overwhelming grief that had consumed him. His divine sense circled his body, and he found that his internal and external injuries had completely healed.
Relieved, he thought, I bet right. It seems only intent can counter intent.
Once Xu Yi broke free of his profound grief, everyone in the arena recovered as well. A tremendous uproar immediately rang out across the grounds.
As Yang Venerate mighty figures, their wills