Three days later, early morning.
Ye Futian was practicing a fist form in the courtyard of the inn. His moves were slow, each punch seeming to contain an intriguing charm. His blood was bubbling through his body. One could faintly hear the rumbles, and amongst the rumbling blood, strands of the emperor's mark lit up. It transformed into an air current of the emperor, making his every move contain the emperor's intent.
Currently, he was cultivating a set of methods. It was the one given to him by the emperor's will when he was forced into desperation that day. Ye Futian didn't know who created this set of methods or what it was called. Therefore, he named it himself—Imperial Tactics.
It was a cliché name but very suitable. When he used this method, his blood would change and spread to every part of his body. It even affected his aura, making him imperial.
