Facing the crowd, Chen Yang slowly let out a breath. The light between his fingers vanished, yet his whole person seemed sacred and awe-inspiring, his eyes clear, his bones delicate and refined.
Everyone present was crushed by a terrifying aura, unable to straighten their backs, and in the end all fell to their knees.
Especially Ning Xia, who moments ago had been putting on an overbearing, high-and-mighty air—his face was ashen, cold sweat pouring down his cheeks; he almost fainted on the spot.
"I don't know, what level are you at?" Chen Yang shrugged, his tone indifferent.
Ning Xia: "..."
This is freaking supernatural!!
You're not my match.
When Ning Xia had said this earlier, how full of confidence had he been, how utterly arrogant?
The result.
After just a few simple words and two snaps of Chen Yang's fingers.
Only then did Ning Xia clearly realize that he himself was nothing but a jumping clown, ridiculously laughable.
