There was no Heaven-Shaking, earth-rending explosion as expected.
Those billions of golden needles, that White Tiger Dharma Manifestation, those sharp claws capable of tearing heaven and earth apart—upon touching the invisible trajectory traced by those two fingers—
Were like spring snow meeting the blazing sun.
Soundlessly, they melted away.
Not shattered—melted away.
As though they had never existed.
Bai Zhan's true form froze in midair. The fighting spirit on his face stiffened, then turned into utter bewilderment and horror.
His all-out strike, such a violent attack, a blow that countless Daluo Golden Immortals would not dare disregard—
Had been blocked just like that?
What was more, the person before him had barely moved, and not the slightest change had appeared on his face.
It was as if he had merely raised two fingers and made a casual stroke, performing some exceedingly simple action.
And then Bai Zhan's full-force attack had been so effortlessly dispelled.
One breath.
Only one breath.
Yet it felt as long as an era.
"Fellow Daoist Bai Zhan, your strength is quite good."
Ye Lin withdrew his fingers into his sleeve, not even shifting his feet.
With a faint smile, he nodded at Bai Zhan.
That manner was like an elder praising a junior.
As if, from beginning to end, Ye Lin had never regarded Bai Zhan as someone on his own level.
At that moment, the entire Weapon Grave fell into deathly silence.
The younger generation of the White Tiger Clan stared at the scene in shock, their wide-open eyes filled with horror.
They had imagined many possible outcomes.
Bai Zhan winning a great victory.
Or perhaps the two would grapple and exchange blows hundreds of times, with Bai Zhan claiming a narrow, miserable victory in the end.
Or perhaps they would battle for thousands of