Chapter 710: He's Her Man!

Those trees that were thrown up rolled in the air, their trunks wrapped in a thin layer of frost, leaves torn into fragments by the shockwave, turning into green dust that fluttered down from the sky.

The hall's roof had more than half of it ripped away by the wave of Qi.

The glazed tiles seemed to be swept away by an invisible giant hand, whoosh‑ing outward, smashing on the ground and shattering.

Everyone fell onto the ground.

Long Bad Dao clasped his head with both hands, his butt sticking up high, his whole body curled into a ball.

Lin Qinghan stood in the Qi wave, her robe rustling, yet she did not crouch.

She tilted her head back, watching the collision of the white streak and The Golden Light, the glow in her eyes shining like two flames.

High above, Jiang Feng stood beneath the Golden Handprint, his right fist pressed at the exact center of the imprint.

The Golden Light, powerful enough to crush mountains and rivers, stalled in front of his fist, as if it had struck an invisible dam and could not advance another inch.

Then he added a little force.

It was only a little, but the moment that tiny power poured into his fist, the massive handprint dozens of zhang tall began to crack from its center.

Cracks spread from Jiang Feng's fist outward in all directions, like lightning exploding across an icy surface.

Those cracks emitted a blinding white light, slicing the Golden Handprint into countless fragments.

Each fragment, as it fell, was devoured by the white light, turning into tiny golden specks that drifted in the night sky, like fireworks running in reverse.

Zheng Tianxiong stood on the ground, watching his own massive handprint shattered by a punch, and for the first time his eyes showed seriousness.

"Good. Very good."

He laughed, his laugh a few beats faster than before. The gray‑white cloth robe with worn cuffs on his body suddenly stopped moving…

Not that it became still, but all the wind within three feet of his body vanished the moment it touched him.

A three‑foot radius vacuum formed around his body, and within this zone even the airflow ceased.

"Young man, you are worthy of Old brother's full effort."

The instant the words hit the ground, Zheng Tianxiong's body disappeared.

Where he had just stood was left with a pit several feet deep; the soil at the bottom was burned by a terrifying force into a dark‑red glassy texture, still hissing with heat.

The next second he appeared before Jiang Feng.

The two were less than five feet apart, standing face‑to‑face, hovering over a hundred zhang high.

Night wind howled around them, moonlight struck their sides, casting their shadows onto the clouds below like two ancient giant gods.

Zheng Tianxiong's fist came down.

That punch bore no Golden Light, no outward Qi, and showed no sign of force.

It looked just like an ordinary old man throwing a punch.

Yet Jiang Feng knew it was because all the power was compressed within that inch of the fist, with not a trace leaking out.

An attack that forced him to give his all was still a first in the Yunding Secret Realm.

Jiang Feng did not retreat; he also threw a punch.

The two fists collided.

This time the sound could finally be heard.

A deep, earth‑shaking boom that almost shifted the ground erupted from the heavens, shaking the ground within dozens of li around Zheng Tiancheng; the mortar between the massive bluish‑white stone bricks of the city wall crumbled down, and the flags on the wall fell more than half.

The silhouettes of the two split apart in mid‑air, each rebounding dozens of zhang backward.

Zheng Tianxiong kicked twice in the void to steady himself, the air beneath his feet rippling in two visible circles.

Jiang Feng's body spun one and a half turns in the air, then hovered steadily, his arms hanging naturally at his sides, not even a breath taken.

Zheng Tianxiong looked down at his own hand.

His hand was covered with a layer of pale gold bone‑like hard armor, the symbol of the Wuzun Body.

And at the exact center of that armor lay a crack as thin as a hair.

He lifted his head to look at Jiang Feng.

"You are also a Wuzun."

This was not a question, but a statement.

Jiang Feng flicked his wrist, a faint gold sheen still clinging to it.

He lifted his head to look at Zheng Tianxiong, a faint smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth.

"Your guess."

The moment those two words left his mouth, Zheng Tianxiong's complexion darkened.

He had lived nearly three hundred years, and among the masters he had met, only a handful could make him give his all and still achieve no result.

And those people were all old monsters of his own generation.

Yet the young man before him seemed not even twenty‑five.

"Then let Old brother see what else you can do."

Zheng Tianxiong's voice lowered, low enough that only Jiang Feng could hear.

Both of his hands emerged from his sleeves simultaneously, his palms slowly coming together in front of him.

As his palms drew together, the surrounding spiritual energy of heaven and earth began to rush madly toward his palms. The energy grew so dense it became visible, condensing in the air into strands of golden light, like streams flowing upstream, surging into his palms from all directions.

At the instant his palms met, a golden beam shot out from his palm.

The beam was extremely thin, no thicker than a hair, but wherever it passed the air turned into plasma, hissing with a crackling sound, even space itself twisted slightly.

This is the Wuzun's signature skill…

Condense spirit into threads, forge swords from threads, slay all things.

That golden thread streaked across the night sky, moving so fast the naked eye could not catch it.

It shot straight toward Jiang Feng's brow, its trajectory as straight as a line measured with a ruler.

Jiang Feng did not dodge; he extended two fingers.

His index and middle fingers pressed together and reached toward that strand of golden silk.

The golden silk was steadily caught between his fingers.

That strand of golden silk, enough to cleave a city wall and split a mountain, writhed wildly between Jiang Feng's two fingers, emitting a sharp, piercing hum.

But no matter how it struggled, it could not escape from between Jiang Feng's fingers.

Those two fingers were wrapped in a layer of milky white light, which looked warm and soft, yet was harder than any steel.

Jiang Feng lowered his head, looked at the golden silk still desperately struggling between his fingers, and spoke a single sentence calmly.

"Your Realm of Martial Ancestor doesn't seem as unshakable as you thought."

After he said this, his fingers closed together, and with a snap, the golden silk broke into two pieces between his fingers, turning into a sky full of golden fragments that scattered in the night wind.

Zheng Tianxiong stood in place, his pupils contracted to the size of a pinpoint.

At that moment, the aura on his body shifted from steady to violent, and that gray-white old cloth robe was puffed up by a violent surge of Golden True Qi, making a tearing sound of fabric unable to withstand the intense strain.

He knew what he had encountered today.

This man stood on the same level as him.

Perhaps even higher.

The entire city's people were looking up at the sky.

They could not clearly see the two figures suspended above the clouds, but they could see the light exploding with every collision between them.

Golden light and white light wildly intertwined, clashed, and bloomed high in the air. Each collision was accompanied by a deafening roar that shook the entire city of Zheng Tian to its foundations.

The guests who had come from all over to watch the ceremony were now all crowded in the open space outside the courtyard, their mouths agape as they looked up at the magnificent, breathtaking scene in the sky, unable to utter a single word.

Perfected Zi Xuan supported Lan Jue as she stood at the entrance of the main hall, watching the two figures constantly colliding in the sky.

Traces of blood still hung at the corner of Lan Jue's mouth. She watched as the increasingly fierce white light swallowed more and more of the golden light, the corner of her mouth curling slightly, and then she let out a very, very low sigh.

"My defeat is not unjust."

Long Bad Dao sat on the ground, one hand holding his head, the other clutching half a roasted chicken leg he had picked up from who knows where. He gnawed on it while craning his neck to look up at the sky, mumbling indistinctly.

"Fight! Old Jiang, good hit! Kick him! Oh, this old man's protective golden light is pretty tough... One more punch! Yeah, yeah, just like that, hit him!"

Lin Qinghan looked up, her eyes full of pride, because...

The man standing in the sky, fighting the Martial Ancestor until the heavens and earth went dark, was her man.