The old records said fewer than one cultivator in ten thousand survived an Extinction Thunderbolt. Even survivors could lose their spirit veins, their dantian, or their minds.
Pei Jing had never seen a falling boulder stop because a man knelt under it. If it was too heavy to hold, he had to strike while it was still moving and break the field holding it together.
The black-purple sphere fell from the center of the clouds. It was three feet across. Light bent around it like water around a stone. Air rushed ahead of it and cracked what remained of the cave roof.
Pei Jing sank into a crouch inside the copper circle. The tendons in his legs drew tight. His back, shoulders, and heels held together under the strain. The stance held the crystal marrow rigid for the strike. Once he released the stance, it could give under a load again.
He opened the gates of his dantian. He opened every channel around the five hundred drops in the nine-zhang pool. Gang Qi fed into his right arm, and the pool kept most of its reserve. It swelled under his skin. Veins stood out along it, glowing with the five colors. His organs sent their power into the same fist.
