"Go back and tell your people."
Zhou Xuan stared at the phantom that had already begun to dissipate.
"If you dare try such underhanded tricks again, our cooperation ends immediately."
The phantom remained silent for five breaths.
The golden light dimmed, and the Dragon-Robed Elder's outline shattered in the air. Before the wind scattered the final syllable, Zhou Xuan faintly heard a sigh.
The phantom vanished.
Pei Zhengyang climbed to his feet. Five finger marks on his neck were red enough to look purple. Without looking at Zhou Xuan, he waved at the four Blue-Robed Envoys behind him.
"Let's go."
The young male cultivator opened his mouth to say something, but Pei Zhengyang grabbed him and hauled him over.
"Let's go!"
The five early-stage Spirit Transformation cultivators fled aboard the Immortal Boat.
As the cabin door shut, the Blue-Robed Female Cultivator glanced back at Zhou Xuan in the Square. He stood amid scattered rubble, his robes dust-stained, a few grains of golden powder resting on his shoulder.
He did not look like a Nascent Soul Cultivator.
Nor did he look like someone to trifle with.
The Immortal Boat hummed, turned around, and climbed, plunging into the spatial rift through which it had arrived. The rift closed, and the sky returned to normal.
From start to finish, less than half the time it took to drink a cup of tea had passed.
The tension in the Square eased. The sound of the Yang Clan's elites sheathing their blades rang out all around.
Yang Wudi hurried over, taking three steps in the space of two. His weathered face wore quite an expression, caught between wanting to curse and wanting to cheer.
"Damn it, talking to a Spirit Transformation cultivator while holding him by the throat! I've lived five hundred years, and that's