Minutes bled away, yet the reality of what had just occurred refused to settle.
Even Tian Xueyang, a man who had weathered storms that would shatter lesser cultivators, struggled to regain his composure.
The silence between them was heavy, filled not with peace, but with the aftershocks of a presence too vast to comprehend.
"Brother Yang, what level do you think that fairy sister was?" Xiao Ming's voice echoed in Tian Xueyang's mind, the telepathic transmission laced with genuine uncertainty.
"No need to ask him. Her level is far beyond what a mere King can sense."
The answer did not come from Tian Xueyang.
Materializing from thin air with insufferable arrogance, Xue Mao floated between them.
The snow cat stretched its body in a languid arch, jaws parting in an exaggerated yawn as if the surrounding danger was nothing more than a boring afternoon nap.
His eyes, heavy-lidded and condescending, swept over the Yang King with dismissal.
