The mist grew thicker and formed a yin-yang cyclone around Fang Cheng's body with a diameter of about one zhang.
At this moment, his movements were incredibly gentle, like flowing clouds and water, as if floating towards immortality.
He stepped into the Eight Trigrams position, and his figure shuttled through the forest.
As he passed by, the fallen leaves on the ground were not crushed but lifted upwards by a gentle airflow, hovering around his ankles, flowing and swirling with his steps.
In the Realm of Ultimate Softness, all things can blend and follow.
On the lakeshore a hundred meters away from the forest, a sanitation worker in an orange vest was swinging a large broom to sweep the leaves.
Suddenly, he felt an unusual breeze blowing from the forest.
This wind was not cold, yet it carried an indescribable feeling.
As the breeze passed, the fallen leaves on the ground rolled themselves up towards the dustpan at the roadside, as if they were soldiers lined up.
