With a flicker of movement, Hong Yuan entered a great hall. He did not humiliate Yang Qingxuan, merely tossing him onto a large chair.
All eight of Yang Qingxuan's spirit apertures had shattered. The true qi he had accumulated over decades had poured away like a collapsed dam unleashing its waters for a thousand miles. Yet Hong Yuan had arrested the backlash at the critical moment, leaving him not only out of mortal danger but in fairly good condition.
His years of nourishment from numinous energy had been no illusion. Compared to ordinary flesh and blood, Yang Qingxuan's life had undergone several transformations, rising to the level of a "spirit body." Even calling him steel-sinewed and iron-boned would have belittled him.
Only his celestial bearing and his invincible, godlike aura had vanished without a trace.
His bodily injuries could heal, but Hong Yuan had crushed him with a single palm strike while his power and momentum stood at their absolute peak, leaving an enormous shadow over his mind.
Unless he could defeat Hong Yuan in turn, he would never again attain inner perfection.
Yang Qingxuan sat motionless and silent while Hong Yuan wandered through the hall, looking around. Before long, he unearthed two jars of wine.
Taking a wine bowl, Hong Yuan filled it and drank it dry. Then he flicked his sleeve, sending the other jar drifting toward Yang Qingxuan.
At last, Yang Qingxuan sighed. He caught the jar, broke its clay seal, and took a deep drink before looking at Hong Yuan. "The victor becomes king; the defeated becomes a bandit. I am not a man who cannot accept defeat. Since you spared my life, I imagine I still have some use. Ask whatever you wish."
Hong Yuan smiled faintly. "With the ancestral dragon vein destroyed, the path