She was a young woman of twenty, dressed in plain Daoist robes. Simple and unadorned, they only accentuated her slender, graceful figure. Her exquisite features looked like a painting, her skin gleamed like jade, and her calm eyes held not a trace of worldly dust. She had the air of moonlight and dew above the clouds, gentle yet distant.
Zhao Feng froze briefly at the sight of such beauty, then quickly recovered.
"Daoist, I have a few things to ask you. Come with me," he said gravely.
"Who are you, patron, and why should I go with you?" the Daoist nun asked, her delicate brows knitting slightly.
"That's not up to you!" Zhao Feng could not be bothered to waste words with her. He reached out to seize her by the waist.
"How dare you!" The young Daoist nun frowned slightly. Her fair hand flicked out, sending a thread of finger force straight at the pulse point on Zhao Feng's wrist.
The moment she attacked, Zhao Feng knew she was no ordinary opponent. Just as her finger force struck his wrist's pulse point, his Yang Qi True Qi surged forth. He turned his grasp into a palm strike, a soft, yielding force barely neutralizing that thread of finger force. Then he struck at her with Crimson Yang Pierces the Chest from the True Yang Cotton Palm.
He had already decided she was an expert from the Demonic Sect and showed no mercy. He mixed his Yang Qi True Qi directly with his Eight Extremes force, blending utmost hardness with utmost softness-iron wrapped in cotton!
"Oh?" The young Daoist nun gave a soft exclamation.
"Brother, please stop."
Zhao Feng turned a deaf ear to her. His scorching, supremely yang palm force intensified again, its pale-red energy blasting straight toward her chest.