Wuhua Mountain, a million miles across, was no longer existent, and the ten thousand-year Daoist tradition was utterly eradicated, with scorched earth as far as the eye could see, leaving no creature alive in the wake of Ye Xuan's strike.
The monk from Fahua Temple knew not who Ye Xuan was; he knew nothing of his origins, and he couldn't fathom why Ye Xuan so brazenly dismissed Lingshan, to declare his Daoist lineage obliterated and then undone it.
There was one thing, though, that the monk knew—he wished to grind Ye Xuan's bones to dust and flay him alive, for only through such an act could he quench the deep-seated hatred of the Blood Sea festering in his heart.
The monk of Fahua Temple was afraid, he was even more terrified of Ye Xuan, for he had witnessed Ye Xuan's dread firsthand!
A single strike, merely one strike!
