Dragon Head Peak.
Main Hall.
The heavy red sandalwood doors slammed shut.
With a dull boom.
It was as if they had shut out the entire world.
The hall was dimly lit, with only a few eternal lamps flickering faintly.
Their shadows stretched long across the walls, like snarling demons.
Cang Song stood with his back to Ye Xuan.
He stood with his hands behind his back, his straight spine like a spear, radiating an undeniable pressure.
Ye Xuan stood in the middle of the hall.
He rubbed his shoulder, which still ached faintly.
He cursed inwardly. The old bastard had a vicious grip; that one squeeze had nearly crushed his shoulder blade.
But his face wore that harmless smile.
He was waiting.
Waiting for Cang Song to speak first.
Whoever spoke first now would reveal their unease.
The air seemed to freeze.
Even the occasional crackle of the lamp wicks sounded especially grating.
After a long while.
The figure with his back to Ye Xuan finally stirred.
"Speak."
Just one word.
His voice was hoarse, as if scraped across sandpaper.
His emotions were tightly suppressed.
Ye Xuan's lips curled slightly.
Old bastard, couldn't hold back after all.
He didn't answer directly. Instead, he walked over to a nearby chair and sat down as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He even poured himself a cup of tea.
The tea went down smooth and sweet.
"Martial Uncle, this is good tea."
Ye Xuan smacked his lips, putting on the air of a tea connoisseur.
Cang Song spun around.
His eyes seemed to burn with two flames.
Not anger.
Urgency.
The kind of urgency that threatened to burn away his reason.
He stared at Ye Xuan, his chest heaving.
If the last shred of reason hadn't reminded