The moment he spoke, a long-overdue greeting echoed through the Farewell Hall alongside the rumble of thunder.
Flowers filled the air with fragrance, candle flames flickered, and everything remained as solemn as ever. Even Lei Wuye, lying in his coffin, looked so peaceful.
Yet in an instant, the atmosphere at the scene had become taut with hostility.
At such a critical moment, uninvited guests arrived one after another without warning, and too much pressure and tension had already built up in the deathly stillness.
When Chen Xingzhou, who should have been lying in a hospital bed, openly appeared before the Farewell Hall, he was like a spark. The flames and shockwaves spreading through the powder keg could no longer be contained.
The piercing scrape of chairs against the floor rang out without end.
Who knew how many people throughout the entire hall rose to their feet and coldly looked toward Chen Xingzhou, ready to draw swords at any moment. Yet quite a few others stood as well, turning their eyes to Lei Yaoxing.
Amid that instantaneous shift, all the outsiders remained seated where they were, without saying a word.
In the seemingly frozen air, Lei Yaoxing silently stared at the opponent close at hand, studying the face he no longer bothered to conceal.
Even if the gap between them was so vast.
To Lei Yaoxing, an ordinary man like Chen Xingzhou, who had repeatedly refused White Deer's Blessing and the High-level Inheritance ritual, could be made to spill blood across the mourning hall and lose both head and body with no more than a slight movement of his finger.
No, he did not even need to act himself.
He could sense Chen Xingzhou's condition at this moment. Calling him at death's door would already have been generous—he truly was a