Meng hao closed his eyes and thought of an imaginary dream in mist of this boring play:
He imagined himself as a certain protagonist who was in his sect courtyard while these girls were the attackers attacking him...
The sect's inner court, usually bustling with the disciplined rhythm of cultivation, fell into an eerie stillness. In the heart of the arena stood Meng Hao, his posture relaxed, hands clasped behind his back. A quiet strength clung to him like a shadow. No one noticed the change at first—until the wind shifted.
Then, everything erupted.
An overwhelming aura exploded from his body, invisible yet all-encompassing. The air rippled like water under his presence, and the ground beneath his feet shuddered as though acknowledging its superior. Spiritual pressure radiated out in rings of oppressive force, spreading farther with every breath he took.
It was the Golden Core Realm.
