A breeze touching upon cliff stone, will naturally dissipate.
This was the feeling conveyed to others from the blow that struck upon Chen Chang Sheng’s shoulder.
Of course, it couldn’t have possibly been an actual breeze, and thus, his uniform ripped and dispersed, his body, that continued to leave behind afterimages, was stalled for but an instant.
It was only an instant.
His left foot landed upon the ground, the brand new boot predictably disintegrated into smithereens, and once again, cracks appeared upon the hard floor.
At almost the same time, several blows, hard to gauge the order at which they arrived, struck upon his body one after the other. His uniform was heavily damaged, fragments danced in the air, while on his body, there appeared several distinct imprints from punches that hadn’t penetrated too deeply.
From the image seen, it didn’t even seem like as if it were the blows striking upon him, but rather, it looked like as if he was intentionally charging into those powerful fist manifestations.
A whistling sound once again rose, Chen Chang Sheng turned into a blur and accompanied a horrifyingly ear piercing sound of clashing; the wind and rain that had been formed by tens of fists was forcibly smashed apart, disappearing without a trace.
Only a single disintegrated boot remained upon the fractured floor, akin to some flower blossoming from stone; fragments of his uniform slowly drifted down, akin to cotton floating downwards in the air.
The Hall of Zhao Wen could no longer maintain its calm and erupted to the sound of sliding chairs.