His breathing seemed to connect heaven and earth. In a rhythm of three long and two short breaths, a faint white mist rose from his body.
If a discerning Martial Artist were present, they would see that the mist was actually sweat, expelled from his pores and condensing in the cold air—a sign that his Blood Qi circulation had reached its peak.
Before he knew it, the dawn's first light broke over the horizon. Xu Yunfan pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and a long, draconic hum escaped from between his teeth.
Wisps of Pure Yang Inner Breath emerged from the depths of his flesh and blood, a scorching current plowing furrows through his muscles.
Wherever it passed, the muscles in his arms suddenly tensed like a fully drawn bull-horn bow, each fiber distinct and taut as twisted steel strings.
The moment the morning glow washed over the mountain ridge and onto his body, his Adam's apple bobbed as if he were a swordsman swallowing a nine-foot-long blade.
