Yang Zhen was actually feeling a bit of regret.
When people get angry, there are only two outcomes: some become so aggravated they mess up everything, their performance more than halving, but others are different, as fierce as a bull in heat, excelling in everything they do.
Clearly, Yan Zixu was of the latter kind, and aside from not snorting steam from his nose, his aura had become even more solidified. The dragon shapes coiling around his body made him as majestic as an emperor.
This was an exceptional individual, and so was that red-clad Shi Feifei, who had cultivated her spiritual power to such a terrifying level; obviously, she was not someone easy to dismiss.
Yang Zhen was a bit scared, and he decided that when he made his move, he would put some muscle into it.
