What Fu Songcheng took out was a Feather Fan. This Feather Fan was pure white and radiated a soft glow, as if veiled in faint moonlight, beautiful beyond description. A single glance at the Feather Fan caused Zhaang Ye's eyes to narrow slightly, a sense of danger rising within him.
Zhaang Ye's Soul Power was far stronger than an ordinary person's. For some time now, he had been constantly comprehending the Ancient Fist Intent and Ancient Sword Intent, his mind a pool of clarity. Sensing danger, and taking into account Fu Songcheng's provocative words, Zhaang Ye instantly became vigilant. His hand shot back like lightning, grabbing the Heavy Saber from his back.
"HAHAHAHA!"
Seeing Zhaang Ye's grave expression, Fu Songcheng couldn't help but burst into laughter. He pointed the Feather Fan in his hand at Zhaang Ye and said grimly, "Zhaang Ye, do you dare to take a single blow from me!"
