Upon hearing Yang Zhen's words, Hua Youyue who was on the Cloud Platform curled her lips into a beautiful curve and curiously observed Yang Zhen's bizarre antics.
The withered monk and the middle-aged scholar couldn't take it any longer. Their faces looked as uncomfortable as if they had swallowed a dead fly that had melted in their mouths, leaving them unable to spit it out.
The other observers' gazes were dim, their eyes twitching as they looked at Yun Jie and Zeng Bishu, and couldn't help but show expressions of pity.
It was so pitiful. Though the two were talents that only arose once in a hundred years, such talents also required a growth process. The fact that they could enter the eighth level already surprised everyone.
But now, even though they could enter the eighth level, they could only sit cross-legged there, struggling to maintain their composure, resisting the wave after wave of violent Spirit Soul suppression until they broke out in a cold sweat.
