The light was very faint.
But to cultivators who had spent years walking the edge between life and death, it was as dazzling as a lighthouse in the night.
Wang Chan, seated atop the blood cloud, suddenly froze with his wine cup suspended in midair.
His narrow eyes snapped toward the rock where Bibi Dong was hiding.
"Who's there?"
Wang Chan shouted coldly.
Without even moving a finger, the blood cloud beneath him split off a blood-red beam as thick as a water barrel.
Accompanied by a howling gale, it slammed viciously into the black rock.
"BOOM!"
The rock instantly exploded into powder.
Shattered stones flew everywhere, and dust billowed into the air.
Bibi Dong reacted with incredible speed.
The instant the bloody light struck, she pushed off with the tip of her foot, her entire body drifting backward more than a dozen yards like a purple butterfly.
She landed steadily atop a dead tree trunk.
The dust slowly dispersed.
Bibi Dong's peerless beauty and noble bearing were fully revealed before everyone.
She wore her magnificent Pope's gown.
In her hand was a jeweled scepter.
Her purple eyes carried an inviolable majesty.
To these demonic cultivators who dealt with corpses and blood all year round, such an aura seemed utterly out of place.
The black-clad cultivators setting up the formation below stopped what they were doing and drew their magical artifacts.
Sitting upon the blood cloud, Wang Chan looked Bibi Dong over from above.
When he saw her face clearly, a distinct flash of amazement appeared in his eyes.
He had toyed with countless female cultivators.
But those women were either timid and shrinking or seductively affected.
This was the first time he had seen a woman like the one before him, one whose very bones radiated the lofty nobility