Two disciples stood outside the door, holding lanterns.
It was already deep into the night. Autumn wind roared through the courtyard, setting the plants rustling noisily. An old man stood behind the lanterns with his hands clasped behind his back.
He wore a green robe. His features were deep-set, with three hanging-needle wrinkles between his brows. The corners of his mouth drooped, and paired with his triangular eyes, his appearance was enough to make anyone uncomfortable.
He was tall, with extraordinarily long arms, yet hunched over with his chest caved in, like a giant macaque with its hands behind its back. His white hair and beard were combed perfectly smooth.
Behind him followed two genuine giant macaques. They kept scratching their ears and cheeks, baring their teeth at everyone.
The visitor was none other than Zhou Pan, president of the Xianyang branch of the Divine Fist Society!
Under his cold gaze, every one of the Eight Great Vajras—even the furious Zhou PeiDe—lowered their heads and dared not say another word.
Zhou Pan said nothing either. He walked into the room with his hands behind his back. Facing the gravely wounded Zhou Bai, he merely cast him a faint glance before snorting coldly. "All of you, come with me."
The Zhou family's residences were all single-story buildings, with no lofty towers or elegant pavilions, but they were spacious enough. Six large courtyards were connected to one another, each equipped with a martial practice ground. Numerous disciples patrolled back and forth with lanterns.
Everyone arrived in the main hall of one of the courtyards. After Zhou Pan sat down at the head, he casually began peeling a small tangerine beside him and said calmly, "What's this? Usually, every one of you is so mighty. But when trouble comes, you start fighting among