Ning Xiaochun stared at them for a long time, his brows gradually knitting together. He was not afraid of battle or slaughter, but this kind of abstract challenge before him made him feel truly stumped.
What he had to do was not merely earn the recognition of one of them, but gain the acknowledgment of two divine artifacts that stood in complete opposition to each other.
And what, exactly, counted as "acknowledgment"? He had no way to judge it, not even to guess. That sense of the unknown made him feel as though he had grasped at empty air, unable to exert any strength.
Time was running out. Ning Xiaochun took a deep breath and decided to try the most straightforward method first—using force to move them.
He strode to the altar on the left, clasped both hands tightly around the base of the heart, and fiercely activated the Soul Power throughout his body. His muscles tensed, veins bulging along his arms like coiling dragons, nearly splitting his outer robe apart.
With a low shout, he planted his feet and pulled upward with all his strength. Cracks spread across the Taiji Stone Slab beneath his feet, while his aura surged outward like that of an enraged beast.
It did not move in the slightest. The heart seemed fused to the altar itself; even its rhythm of beating remained completely undisturbed.
It was as though the strength he saw as enough to shake a mountain was, to it, no more than a breeze brushing its surface.
Ning Xiaochun refused to believe it. He switched methods, gathering Soul Power at his fingertips and trying to pry open the seam between the heart and the altar. Yet the moment his Soul Power touched the altar's surface, it vanished like a clay ox sinking