Ye Futian did not bother answering Saint Xihua. His eyes stayed fixed on the mausoleum statues that exuded the might of the great path. Every single statue exuded different types of might; that of the sword, power, the five elements, destruction, and so on. The power of all manner of mighty pressure filled the air, which, when leaned onto one's body, felt like the pressure from the heavens out to crush everything.
Furthermore, the greater one's training, the stronger the pressure one felt. While Saint Xihua and the Zhou Sacred King, for instance, were still standing tall and proud as all of them were, only they knew how much pressure they were dealing with at the moment.
Saint Xihua's expression was cold and Ye Futian ignored him altogether.
