All eyes turned to Qing Long. Slowly, deep black horns, veined with a bluish glow, emerged from his forehead, an undeniable sign of his draconic lineage. An invisible yet crushing pressure descended upon the tent, suffocating, making the air almost tangible.
For the first time, Guan Yushen felt a shiver of apprehension run down his spine. He knew Qing Long was powerful, but he had never witnessed such a manifestation of his Qi.
Qing Long was known for his benevolence and calm, a rarity among the elite cultivators. He treated everyone the same: if they were of his generation, they were his martial brothers; if they were older, he respected them as his elders. Immortal Clan, Ancestral Families, mortals... Regardless of their status, he accorded them the same courtesy.
But there was an unspoken rule that everyone knew.
Abusing his kindness and, worse, disrespecting him while wasting his time, was the last thing to do.
