Song Huntian's brows knitted tightly, and a trace of barely perceptible annoyance flashed in his eyes.
He suppressed the urge to kick the person clinging to his leg away and impatiently waved his hand. "You want me to decide?"
"Hmph. Your elder brother died in the secret realm. Blades have no eyes, and opportunities are fraught with danger. In life or death, everyone answers to fate. How am I supposed to 'decide' for you?"
"Enough! Put away that act of yours. What kind of behavior is it, crying and wailing like this?"
Song Huntian leaned back slightly against his chair and looked down at the person sprawled at his feet like a lump of mud.
"Considering that your elder brother once served the clan... later, I'll have Xiao Qing take you to the clan treasury. You may choose one high-quality middle-grade magical treasure as compensation."
Song Huntian sneered inwardly. The moment they met, he had wailed as though the sky were falling?
He certainly knew how to put on a convincing act.
But the old man had seen every kind of storm. This street-thug routine of throwing a tantrum and refusing to let go was child's play to him—clumsy and pathetic!
Sure enough, the moment he finished speaking, the deafening wail stopped dead.
Song Yongheng, kneeling on the ground, suddenly stiffened.
Slowly, inch by inch, he lifted the head he had buried against the clan leader's leg.
There was no trace of unbearable grief left on his tear-streaked face.
Only his eyes, bloodshot with strain, remained—crimson and savage as a beast's.
"A middle-grade magical treasure?" Song Yongheng's voice was hoarse.
"Clan Leader, my elder brother... did indeed die in the secret realm!"
He sucked in a sharp breath, his chest heaving violently as his voice abruptly rose.
"But he didn't