Just now, Zheng Ming, in everyone's eyes, was a laughable youth, but in this moment, Zheng Ming, in their eyes, was as valiant as a heavenly god.
He held a wooden stick, sat atop a black ox, and had Fu Yuqing in his embrace; no matter how one looked, this did not appear like the stance for charging into battle, yet the two strikes he had just launched chilled the hearts of many.
These two strikes were exceedingly simple, but they carried an unstoppable momentum, a spirit of winning a hundred out of a hundred battles.
Under this momentum, many felt disheartened. They even felt that under Zheng Ming's not tall but mountain-like stature, they fell far too short.
Ji Kongyou gazed at Zheng Ming, a glint of unusual light flickering in her eyes. If in the past Ji Kongyou had not taken Zheng Ming seriously, now she felt that Zheng Ming was worthy of speaking to her as an equal.
How had this youth become so strong?
