The temperature on the summit plummeted abruptly. The air, already humid and damp with returning moisture, condensed into layers of frost spread across the leaves and grass stems, resembling a thin white gauze cloak.
Hu Yihui's Phantom Sword traced circles within the ball of fire.
His face remained grim and utterly expressionless. Concentrating his mind and gathering his vital energy, his ten fingers danced rapidly, directing the Phantom Sword to thrust and withdraw in sweeping arcs.
Chapter 142