The wooden door was gently pushed open by a Servant Player, and a rich aroma of wine mixed with the heavy scent of sandalwood instantly enveloped Wang Xuan at the doorway.
He swept his gaze over the gilded floor and hanging crystal lamps before it finally settled on Feng Shaoyun, who reclined on the Purple Gold Sofa in the center of the room.
After all this time, this man was still as arrogantly superior as ever.
With one elbow propped on the sofa armrest, his chin slightly raised and eyelids half-lowered, he looked so languid that even glancing at someone seemed like an act of charity.
Wang Xuan stopped walking. Somewhere deep inside him, an old, sealed scar was brutally ripped open by that face.
In the dead end at the dormitory hallway, he had been pinned against the cold wall, unable to move.
Inside a bathroom stall, water from the faucet had been forced down his throat, and the suffocating sensation had made him struggle in agony.
Those moldy, humiliating memories surged through his mind frame by frame like an old film reel.
Panic suddenly rose within him without warning.
Even though he was now a Tower Master Player who possessed Authority and had slaughtered quite a few members of the Royal Clan in Plot Worlds, that psychological shadow still surfaced uncontrollably the moment he saw that face.
But it lasted only an instant.
Wang Xuan took a deep breath, and his sword intent severed those fearful thoughts. He stepped straight inside, his footsteps breaking the room's deathly silence.
Feng Shaoyun finally lifted his eyelids slowly, his tone as light as if they were merely chatting about the weather. "I didn't expect us to meet again so soon.
"You know?
"After leaving school, the next time I heard news