In the room.
Zhao Feng was still flailing his arms and legs in excitement.
Zhao Yuman and Qinghe, however, were both staring wide-eyed.
'In just a few short days, that Mingjin Martial Artist—the one I remembered as having a mere Lower-Grade Root Bone—has actually crossed a threshold that many can never surmount in their entire lifetime?'
Zhao Yuman felt a BUZZ in her head, as if countless needles were pricking her temples all at once. Zhao Feng's excited words became a blur, leaving only the two words "Dark Jin" echoing over and over.
She subconsciously grabbed the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white from the force, just barely managing to keep herself from sliding off her chair.
