Heaven-Leveling Bull Demon Fist
"Wu Yousheng?"
He Ping's strike toward Ying Wuji transformed in a thousand ways. Power surged from his palm, vast and strange; streams of dharma-force and vital energy intertwined—tender yet violent, gentle yet savage.
Yet just as he made his move, a line of words suddenly appeared in his field of vision—it was writing, not a voice.
Nor was it a spiritual thought transmitted across the void. Such methods were commonplace for powerful cultivators communicating with one another, but at that instant, a line of text flickered before his eyes—
"He Ping, why put yourself through this?"
The next second, He Ping's offensive faltered. The scenery around him abruptly changed, and he plunged into the depths of a mysterious spacetime. All around was pitch-black, dense shadows drifting through the air. This spacetime was filled with endless dark clouds.
Those dark clouds were all shadows. The clouds were like thick ink, the wind roared like a bull. They blanketed the void from above to below, and the farther down one went, the vaster the space became, its depth unknowable—like a bottomless abyss. Within that bottomless abyss lay an enormous world, containing layer upon layer of space that led to all manner of mysterious realms.
"This place? What a strange place."
In an instant, He Ping sensed that this was not any location within the Three Realms of Heaven and Earth, nor was it a turbulent void current. This was a spacetime comparable to a great thousand world.
This scholar had an archaic face that felt strangely familiar. His entire being stood at odds with the surrounding environment, shrouded in a layer of dusty, aged hues, like the sun setting beyond the western hills, or an old, faded photograph. It was a peculiar state, as though he had opened