Above the heavenly vault, a void stretched for thousands of miles.
Ye Xuan and Yang Jian stood opposed in midair, a grim aura reverberating through the eight corners of heaven and earth. The boundless sky above became increasingly dark, with millions of streaks of lightning flashing.
At this time.
Yang Jian's face was solemn, his brow slightly furrowed, and a trace of dread and astonishment discreetly crossed his eyes as he looked at Ye Xuan.
How could Yang Jian have imagined that in merely six hundred years, Ye Xuan had ascended from being a Taiyin Mystic Immortal to a Luotian Golden Immortal?
What kind of joke was this? A Luotian Golden Immortal?
Yang Jian felt as uncomfortable as if he had swallowed a fly, his spirit violently fluctuating, almost unable to believe his own eyes.
From Taiyin Mystic Immortal to Taiyi Golden Immortal, to Luotian Mystic Immortal, and then to Luotian Golden Immortal—there were three significant realms of difference.