A New Way to Play

Zhou Xuan's voice echoed through the secret chamber, leaving no lingering resonance; every word landed solidly.

Zhao Ji's mouth hung half-open, a breath caught in his throat, unable to go up or down.

The impassioned speech he had just made about Central Province was still warm, yet in the blink of an eye, Zhou Xuan's single sentence had blocked it up tight.

Feng Wuhen slowly sat back down, his withered fingers gripping the armrests of his chair, knuckles turning white.

No one answered.

Zhou Xuan simply stood there, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sweeping from left to right, taking in every expression of everyone present.

Zhao Ji's temple was twitching. Feng Wuhen was grinding his back molars. The Elders of the Extreme Speed Sect exchanged looks with one another, yet none of them was willing to speak first.

Yang Qiong was still frozen in the posture of slapping the chair back, his face saying, I haven't finished cursing yet, before Yang Mie pressed him back down.

The silence lasted for about twenty breaths.

Zhao Ji was the first who could not hold out.

He sat back down again, both hands braced on his knees, head lowered so his expression could not be seen.

After a long while, he squeezed a heavy, turbid sound out through his nose.

"Mr. Zhou, those words of mine just now... really did go too far."

Feng Wuhen sighed after him, raising a hand to rub the space between his brows. "Old Zhao is right. We lost our composure. Something like Immortal Crystal... after living more than a thousand years, smelling that scent for the first time, we failed to control ourselves for a moment."

The Elders of the Extreme Speed Sect also nodded and bowed along with them, lowering their posture to the