As he attacked, observers could not see anything special happening. However, the white-robed youth’s pupils instantly constricted. From his perspective, everything had suddenly turned to the color of blood. His expression flickered slightly, and a sense of imminent, fatal danger welled up in him. His right hand shot up to slap his bag of holding. A branch appeared in his hand upon which grew three withered leaves and three luxuriant leaves. He waved it in front of him.
No sound could be heard, but faint ripples circled out. Meng Hao gave a bored snort and retreated backward a three paces. As he did, his power began to decline, so he stopped and took a step forward.