Mingjin is like chopping wood—the result is clear with a single swing of the axe.
But Dark Energy is like embroidery. It allows one to twist power into a fine thread, guiding it with the precision of threading a needle to exactly where it needs to go.
Just like that phantom strike from before, it seemed casual, but it was actually Inner Strength condensed at the fingertips and projected through the air—something Mingjin could never achieve.
When he threw another punch, his fist cut through the air with much less of a whistle. But when it landed on the old locust tree, it wasn't a jarring impact that shook the trunk. Instead, a subtle tremor ran through the entire tree from its roots, as if a force had silently burrowed down the trunk and deep into the earth.
Under the moonlight, Yang Jing stood still, his eyes slightly closed, breathing slowly and rhythmically.
