After Qin Yue struck out with his palm, he was certain Yang Qing and the others would be unable to dodge it.
Although he had put little internal energy into the strike, teaching Yang Qing, who had not a shred of internal energy, a lesson would be as easy as turning over his hand.
Yang Qing's air of indifference deeply irritated Qin Yue.
He had always been the one to look down on others. No one had ever dared defy him.
Yet this man before him, whose soul he could scatter with a single palm strike, neither ducked nor dodged?
Where did he get such nerve?
At that moment, Qin Yue suddenly recalled something his master had specifically told him.
"Whatever you do, do not underestimate Yang Qing."
He had originally thought it was merely an offhand remark, but now Qin Yue realized with a start that things might not be as he had imagined.
Facing his palm strike, Yang Qing neither ducked nor dodged. Even his expression remained unchanged.
The people standing beside Yang Qing showed no intention of intervening either.
Did they really have that much faith that Yang Qing could evade my strike?
But on what grounds?
These thoughts flashed through Qin Yue's mind like lightning, then vanished as though swept away by wind and rain.
For he had already seen Yang Qing's counterattack.
A branch as supple as a slender vine stood upright against the wind on Yang Qing's wrist, then flung away all the internal energy in Qin Yue's palm strike.
That surge of internal energy landed squarely upon the heap of rubble that had once been the inn. An exceedingly dull boom rang out, and the rubble was reduced entirely to dust.
Qin Yue's expression changed at once.
Not only had his palm strike