The alley fell utterly silent.
That ringing dragon cry as the blade left its sheath was like an invisible thunderclap, cleaving all the clamor and din to pieces. The onlooking neighbors retreated several steps in unison, like cats whose paws had been scalded. The numb, detached expressions of spectators on their faces had been replaced by genuine fear.
Hu Jiudao and the thugs under him had been wearing savage, disdainful grins, but now they looked like chickens seized by the throat, their laughter abruptly cut off. They instinctively tightened their grips on the cudgels and cleavers at their waists, muscles taut as they stared fixedly at the "Fengtian Blade" in Ye Qingxuan's hand, its surface reflecting the light of heaven.
The blade gleamed like snow, a pool of autumn water.
The hand Duan Tianbao had been using to wave his folding fan stopped in midair as well. His face, usually adorned with a refined and elegant smile, was now unreadable. Only his eyes had narrowed slightly, as though he were reassessing the young man before him in the Fengtian Division's official uniform.
"Brother Ye," he finally said. His voice remained unhurried, but the hint of familiarity had faded, replaced by a touch of scrutiny. "What do you mean by this? For the sake of some unrelated old man, are you truly planning to fall out with my Fierce Tiger Hall?"
The wind swept up the trampled tofu dregs from the ground. Mixed with muddy water, they gave off a sour, rancid odor.
A ball of fire burned in Ye Qingxuan's chest. But when the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of the crack in his courtyard gate, that small, worried figure behind it was like a basin of icy water, dousing the heat in his mind.
He could not