Many great figures with divine skills cursed Ye Xuan inwardly for his ignorance and foolishness, their eyes turning to him intermittently, unsure if Nuwa would place blame on him.
Nuwa stood in the sky, her body shrouded in holy light, showing no signs of anger—only her calm gaze rested upon Ye Xuan as her gentle voice rose in the air.
"Ye Xuan, why do you not kneel upon seeing me?"
Her words were as authoritative as heaven and earth—under the infinite and boundless saintly aura that filled beyond the Thirty-Three Heavens, all the great figures with divine skills shuddered with fear, while Ye Xuan stood at the center of this saintly might, a bead of cold sweat forming on his forehead.
Terrifying, frightfully terrifying, terrifying to the utmost!
This was the sense Nuwa gave Ye Xuan; it was his first time facing a saint directly, yet he felt as insignificant as an ant before her.
"Is this the might of a saint?"
