Zhou Ren stood there for several moments after Little Bull released his hand.
The young disciple repeatedly flexed his fingers while staring at his palm as if expecting to find some hidden injury there. Nothing was broken. His bones were intact. His meridians were unharmed.
And yet his hand still ached.
The pain was not severe, but it was enough to remind him that what had just happened was very real. A mortal had overpowered him and not through some secret technique, treasure or trick, but with pure physical strength.
The thought alone felt absurd.
Zhou Ren had spent three hundred years cultivating. He had endured tribulations, fought beasts, and survived countless dangerous missions. While he would never consider himself among the geniuses of the sect, he was still an immortal.
