"Demon cultivator? Haha, ridiculous!" Fan Wubing's eyes were steely. "What is 'immortal,' what is 'demon,' need not be defined by the likes of you. All I know is that right here, right now, the things you've done and the words you've said fully illustrate what a 'demon cultivator' is."
He Chen smiled, squeezing the flesh on his face so that his eyes became mere slits. "A sharp-tongued brat, indeed."
Under the curtain of pouring rain, the tension between the two was palpable.
Fan Wubing felt uncertain.
He couldn't gauge the intensity of He Chen's aura at all. Middle Stage of Nascent Soul, Late Stage of Nascent Soul? Or even higher?
On the surface of He Chen's body, a thin mist of blood began to emerge, and his qi and blood surged as if boiling.
Narrowing his eyes, he asked, "Boy, does this feel familiar to you?"
