In the hall, Li Yun's hand still hung in midair. He held Meng Qingshan by the throat, his feet dangling off the floor and his face swollen to the color of pig liver.
Meng Qinglong charged into the hall with his men. At the sight, his face turned ashen.
Meng Qinghai followed beside him, wearing an odd expression, though a barely perceptible flicker of delight crossed his eyes. Third Senior's misfortune might not be a bad thing for Second Senior.
"Who are you? Why have you attacked the Meng Family in the middle of the night?"
Meng Qinglong spoke in a deep voice, his tone carrying the imperious edge of a man demanding an answer.
Li Yun turned and glanced at him.
It was a mild look, yet Meng Qinglong's heart tightened.
He had run the Meng Family for years and met countless experts, but never had he seen eyes like those—indifferent and calm, as though gazing at an ant.
"You're Meng Qinglong?" Li Yun asked.
Meng Qinglong drew a deep breath and suppressed his unease. "I am. You've barged into the Meng Family and injured our people. If you don't give us an explanation today..."
"An explanation?"
Li Yun cut him off, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
"What kind of explanation do you want?"
"Meng Qingshan ambushed my woman, Qiao Meng, and nearly killed her. What kind of explanation does the Meng Family owe me for that?"
"What? Meng Qingshan ambushed Qiao Meng?"
"Nonsense! What proof do you have?"
"Qiao Meng is Meng Qingshan's niece. She calls him uncle—her own flesh-and-blood uncle... How could he ambush her?"
Meng Qinglong was stunned. He could hardly believe it.
But something seemed to occur to him. He shot Meng Qingshan a fierce glare, then barked, "Release Meng Qingshan at once.