Sun Tao's home was a detached residence spanning more than five hundred square meters. Its nearest neighbors were fifty meters away, making the surroundings exceptionally quiet and secluded.
The residence had both a front and rear courtyard. A path paved with bluish-gray bricks ran through the yellow earth, usually serving as the ground where he practiced his fist techniques and tempered his strength.
Aside from that, the house contained the most potted plants and flowers. Especially the great banyan tree in the rear courtyard—its prop roots intertwined, its branches supporting one another, its foliage spreading wide—truly gave the impression of a single tree forming a forest.
Sun Tao's banquet had been laid beneath the great banyan tree. It was set for the dead of night, ostensibly to strengthen their bond and discuss the martial arts hall's future development.
Before coming into contact with Xiang Yang, Sun Tao had always been honest and dutiful, meticulous in all he did. Qian Fu had not suspected in the slightest that this banquet might be a Hongmen Banquet, because Sun Tao had no reason to do such a thing—or so he believed.
The night was deep and still, stars glittering overhead like countless blinking lights. Eight-sided red lanterns hung from the banyan tree below, bathing the courtyard in a crimson glow. Cool breeze, bright moon, fine wine, and sumptuous dishes—it was indeed a great pleasure.
Qian Fu, who had come alone, soon sank into the tranquil, comfortable, relaxing atmosphere. Every bone and muscle in his body loosened as he sat on the wooden stool Sun Tao had brought over, leaning against the round table and drawing a deep breath. It felt as though even the internal injuries Fang Datong, that old ghost, had inflicted on him several days ago had eased considerably.
"Junior Brother