The shroud was about to be placed in Liang Hui's palm when,
Song Xi's eyes forward, her expression serene, carried a gentle warmth.
She carefully stared at the youth's face, as if she wanted to imprint it in her mind.
"Qin Dao? Asking for the Dao?"
She sighed softly, yet with deep exhaustion.
Her fingers loosened, the shroud slipped from her fingertips and fell to the ground.
At the same time, divine light burst forth from her body, repelling the hand at her neck.
The scar-laden hand instantly clenched into a fist, and tiny black Wind Blades appeared at the edge of the fist.
With a boom, she struck forward.
Liang Hui watched the approaching fist, his eyes filled with cold severity as he met the attack with his own fist.
All kinds of beastly roars followed in succession.
Eventually merging into one.
The fist was peerless, carrying a will of certain victory, pushing forward.
Just as it was about to make contact with the pitch-black Wind Blades,
