The gale sweeping through the Chiyan Mountains whipped ice shards against his face. Yan Nantian hung above the frozen pool in Xuanbing Ravine, blood still seeping from the crisscrossing lash marks beneath his rough prison clothes. The guard deliberately shook the iron chain, watching him slam into the ice wall like a limp sack of cloth, then sneered. "The rarest genius Xuanbing Pavilion has seen in a hundred years: Young Master Yan, who hasn't broken through to the third level of Qi Condensation in three whole years!"
