"You're my father?!"
As soon as Feng Xia said that, the Holy Son Ying Daoyi was stunned.
Throughout the ages and along the river of time, how many people dared to say such things to him?
Not to mention claiming to be his father!
Almost immediately, anger surged in the Holy Son's chest. He said in a cold and deep voice, "Do you really think that I… need to be polite to you?"
"Not really."
Feng Xia's answer was quite straightforward. "Actually, I'm just joking with you."
The Holy Son narrowed his eyes slightly, but the biting cold and oppressive aura had dissipated slightly.
"Tell me, who are you?"
"Actually…"
Feng Xia took a deep breath and his brows curled up slightly. There seemed to be an indescribable emotion in his expression.
"Actually… I'm your grandfather."
"…"
The Holy Son's expression froze.