The bedchamber of the Bai Shuang Hua Pavilion had turned into a battlefield.
Furious, Yan Ling fought with everything he had against Wei Li Feng. Every time he struck or blocked an attack with his palm or the edge of his hand, spiritual energy surged through his meridians first gathering and then compressing before being released. Years of martial arts and cultivation were poured into each movement, making his blows deadly and precise.
Yet he was still losing.
Wei Li Feng moved with unsettling ease, blocking every strike while barely retreating. Even as he countered, he was clearly holding back — his goal was not to injure Yan Ling, but to seize him.
That alone was infuriating.
Just what did you do, Wei Li Feng?
How can someone nine years younger than me have a cultivation this high… unless—
