"So you're that bastard son of Li Chengfeng, huh?"
There's an old saying: don't point out people's flaws when insulting them, and don't hit them in the face when striking them. Chen Feng's words were venomous to the extreme, almost tantamount to slapping Li Xiaoyao across the face.
All eight sects of Xuan Country now knew that Li Chengfeng had found his long-lost eldest son of twenty-eight years and that this son possessed an extremely terrifying talent for cultivation, with an incredibly high cultivation level.
Yet, in Chen Feng's mouth, the son became a bastard, which was indeed venomous speech.
Li Xiaoyao's face was brimming with murderous intent, his visage cloaked in gathering storm clouds, filled with uncontainable killing intent.
So what if Chen Feng was from the ancient Rakshasa Sect? If he dared to touch Li Xiaoyao's raw nerve, there would only be one outcome: death!
