Song Qingshu slammed his hand down on the table. "Damn it, if you want to fight, get out and fight. Don't ruin this lord's enjoyment of his drink!"
Seeing him suddenly act so out of character, Cheng Yaojia could not help but suppress a laugh. She quietly extended a slender jade finger and pointed at the cup on the table, indicating that he was drinking tea, not wine.
Song Qingshu's breathing caught. He shot her a fierce glare, thinking, Just wait until I'm free. I'll deal with you properly then.
After spending so long with him, Cheng Yaojia had gradually stopped being so afraid of him. As though she had guessed what he was thinking, she smiled and lifted her chin, revealing her smooth, fair neck.
Song Qingshu was admiring the gentle beauty the woman before him displayed when he heard a burly man from the Zhongyi Army curse, "Who the hell do you think you are!"
His slap on the table had startled everyone in the hall. They had all stopped fighting and turned to look at him.
Hearing his subordinate's insult, the middle-aged man silently cursed his bad luck. His subordinate's cultivation was too shallow to notice that the other man's seemingly casual slap had made every expert in the hall stop fighting. Yet he himself knew perfectly well what terrifying skill that represented.
Just as he was about to apologize, his expression changed drastically, and he hurriedly reached out to pull his subordinate back. Everyone on the second floor saw a blur before their eyes, followed by a shrill scream. Looking toward the sound, they saw that the burly man who had spoken earlier was spitting blood. A chopstick had pierced up through his chin and emerged beneath his nose, neatly sewing his mouth shut.
Still seated,