This punch was extremely slow, yet when the Primordial Spirit beheld it, it displayed different outer sceneries, each person seeing something unique.
Some saw a newborn, its cry particularly loud, bringing endless hope and brilliance.
Some saw graves everywhere, bones piling up, the world somber and bleak.
Some saw a deep, silent valley, where plants thrived and wild beasts raced.
Flowers bloom and perish, the sun rises and sets, tides ebb and flow, life and death... countless shadows and lights seemed to merge into this punch.
From nothing to presence, from far to near.
The trajectory it carved was like the traces of all existence, embodying Yin and Yang, condensing into life and death.
Rumble...
Facing this punch, Zhang Fan had no time to think and raised a punch of his own.
His punch also had no fancy embellishments, nor any overflowing Daoist Skill.
