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Bai Xue drifted down, the Mystic Gate Army dressed in mourning white, paying tribute to their deceased leader.
Cheng Tianyou struggled to speak, "Kneel!"
He had thought that after Yan Shiyin's death, as the one representing Yan Shiyin's legacy, he could command the remaining Mystic Gate Army.
However, what he didn't expect was that all the Mystic Gate Army stood as if rooted, unmoved by the vast snow.
Chen Qing, however, was not angered, which made him regard these people more highly.
The foundation of the Mystic Gate Army was inferior to his original troops.
The reason was simple: the Mystic Gate Army largely consisted of Loose Cultivators and Foundation Establishment of the lower tier.
But unexpectedly, after Yan Shiyin's leadership, these people at this moment stood proud.
The despised Loose Cultivators, the low-level Foundation Establishment who had been pushed around, now had a new will here.
"Mystic Gate Army, do not yield!"
