Patriarch Xuancha stared at He Wanxing for a long time. That pressure was like a sword hanging above her head, ready to fall at any moment, yet He Wanxing never yielded.
Time passed breath by breath in the silence. Fine beads of cold sweat had seeped across He Wanxing's forehead, and blood trailed from the corner of her mouth, but the light in her eyes did not dim in the slightest.
After a long while, Patriarch Xuancha finally withdrew her aura.
The mountain-and-sea-like pressure abruptly vanished. He Wanxing's body suddenly went slack, and she nearly collapsed face-first to the ground, barely holding herself up with her hands.
She panted violently, her chest heaving unevenly, yet a glimmer of light burst forth in her eyes.
"Since your mind is made up, I will make an exception this once."
Patriarch Xuancha's cold voice rang out. "I can fend off these three families for you."
He Wanxing abruptly raised her head, a flash of delight crossing her face. "Thank you, Patriarch. Cough, cough."
"However."
Patriarch Xuancha cut her off, her voice turning frigid at once. "You must cultivate this technique. Once Red Sleeve Fragrance is over, I want to see signs of cultivation on you. Otherwise, I will make that little lover of yours wish he were dead."
With a flick of her fingertip, a yellowed ancient tome flew from her sleeve and landed on the muddy ground before He Wanxing.
Five large characters were written across its cover in cinnabar—Phoenix-Overturning Art.
He Wanxing's gaze fell upon the ancient tome, and her pupils suddenly contracted.
"Patriarch."
Her voice was nearly pleading. "You know what this technique is. It is a secret harvesting art. Once it is used, the one harvested from will suffer a decline in cultivation at best, and lose all cultivation