Fang Han and his two companions exchanged a glance, quickened their pace, and hurried toward the gathering crowd.
Pushing through the onlookers, the scene before him made Fang Han's eyes narrow slightly.
Seven young disciples in Qingxuan Sect Disciple's Robes lay on the ground. Some clutched their chests and groaned, while others had blood trickling from the corners of their mouths. It was clear they were all injured.
In the center of them all, a figure dressed in the True Inheritance Robe of the Netherworld Pavilion had one foot planted on a Qingxuan Sect disciple.
It was Yin Huang.
He stood with his hands behind his back, applying slight pressure with his foot.
The Qingxuan Sect disciple pinned beneath his foot let out a stifled grunt. His face flushed red as he struggled desperately to get up.
But it was as if a mountain were pressing down on him; he couldn't move an inch.
"Qingxuan Sect, is this all you've got?"
