"Look at how far he twists his hips! He's drawing the earth's power into his sea of qi!"
No one knew who started it.
More than thirty Heaven Mending Pavilion elders, normally lofty figures whose every word decided countless lives and deaths, all threw aside their dignity as seniors.
Their eyes bloodshot, they began frantically copying him.
"Ow!"
Elder Zhuo Yun failed to keep his balance. His left foot tripped over his right, and he staggered, nearly falling flat. But he scrambled upright on all fours and continued, dipping his old waist and thrusting his shriveled backside out hard.
Elder Xiong Fei stroked his graying beard with both hands, swaying his waist back and forth in time with Shi Hou's meat slicing. He even counted the beat aloud. "One left, one right, then a bounce... hiss, wouldn't you know it? My blood qi, dormant for years, really is warming up!"
The entire courtyard had become a ritual ground where demons danced in wild chaos.
Among them, the Pavilion Master truly lived up to his standing as the most accomplished cultivator. His powers of comprehension were terrifying.
His eyes half-closed, his white robes fluttered without a breeze. He stiffly pinched his fingers into orchid gestures and took tiny shuffling steps, trying to keep up with Shi Hou's rhythm.
But he was, after all, an old man who had sat motionless on a meditation cushion for hundreds of years.
His first few twists were utterly stiff, like a rusted iron man. His waist leaned left while his hips tipped right, as though two people were forcibly yanking him in opposite directions.
Zhuo Yun glanced over from beside him, and the corner of his mouth visibly twitched.
The Pavilion Master's aged face flushed red. He clenched his back teeth and refused to stop.