When he finished speaking, he picked up the tea tin, turned around, and walked back to his seat. Then he sat down.
Then he raised his head, his gaze once again falling on the City Lord, Wei Qingcang, who stood frozen in place like a stone statue.
He gently tapped the tin of Biluo Tian against the table, producing a soft click.
In the deathly silent teahouse, that sound rang louder than thunder.
"Now," Xuanyuan said, his voice as calm as still water, yet carrying the indifference of one who looked down upon all living things, "we can talk about your son."
He paused, as if considering the right words. Then the corner of his mouth curled into the faintest hint of a smile. There was no mirth in it, only cold mockery.
"How much do you think his life is worth?"
How much was it worth?
Those five words stabbed into Wei Qingcang's mind like five red-hot iron needles, shredding what little reason he had left.
Money?
He was asking me for money?
A being who could erase two Xiantian experts with a snap of his fingers, a monster surrounded by terrifying "laws" that made his words reality, was actually asking me... for money?
What humiliation! What contempt!
In his eyes, the City Lord's position that Wei Qingcang had once been so proud of, the wealth and influence he had spent his whole life amassing, and even his son's life were nothing more than figures that could be measured in money.
Wei Qingcang's Adam's apple bobbed violently. He wanted to speak, but his throat felt packed with scorching sand, and he couldn't force out a single syllable. Cold sweat poured from his temples, back, and palms, nearly soaking through his lavish City Lord's robes.
He knew this was a