Three Realms of Sainthood

Han Chen, the violet-robed young man, did not attack again. He merely studied Zhang Shuai with those eyes that seemed capable of seeing through the ages, his tone carrying an indescribable sigh. "After waiting hundreds of millions of years, I have finally encountered another fated one. How should I address you, fellow cultivator?"

Zhang Shuai also reined in his killing intent. He could clearly sense that once the other party had confirmed that he too was a "fated one," the sharp killing intent had vanished without a trace, replaced by a complicated scrutiny and curiosity, as though he had met an old friend in a foreign land.

Since that was the case, he naturally would not provoke him first.

"This junior is Zhang Shuai. Greetings, Senior." Zhang Shuai clasped his hands in salute, neither servile nor overbearing. "May I ask how to address you, Senior?"

Han Chen smiled faintly and waved his hand. "There is no need for such formality. We may address each other as peers. I am Han Chen."

Zhang Shuai turned his gaze toward the sixteen black-robed Half-Saints, who were still shaken with fear, and asked, "Fellow Cultivator Han Chen, are these people your subordinates?"

Han Chen casually glanced at them and waved his hand. "You may all withdraw first."

The sixteen Half-Saints felt as though they had been granted a pardon. They hurriedly bowed, then transformed into streaks of light and swiftly fled this troublesome place, vanishing beyond the horizon in an instant.

Once the irrelevant people had left, Han Chen's gaze returned to Zhang Shuai. His expression carried both scrutiny and warning. "As a fated one, you have managed to survive in the perilous Primordial World until now. You must have your own exceptional qualities. However, I still need to remind you of one thing.