Little Song?
Brother Yuan?
Song Yinglong's face was dark as still water. His icy gaze fixed on Hong Yuan, who strolled in as casually as if walking through his own garden. "What do you mean by this, Brother Hong?" he demanded coldly.
With a sudden rustle, the dozen or twenty people in the council hall reacted swiftly, drawing their weapons and surrounding Hong Yuan.
Almost every face was grim, murderous intent laid bare.
Hong Yuan merely glanced around before his gaze settled on one of them.
The man was of average build and ordinary appearance, though his face was remarkably pale and clean. At first glance, he looked like a young man of twenty-five or twenty-six; on a second look, he seemed an old man of fifty or sixty.
It was none other than Mr. Wuhen.
"What should I call you?" Hong Yuan asked with a smile.
Compared with the others, who were braced for battle, Mr. Wuhen was far calmer. He chuckled. "This old man is merely a nobody..."
Hong Yuan raised a hand, his voice gentle. "Since you're a nobody, don't speak. Don't move your hands or feet, and keep your mouth shut... stay still. Move, and you die."
Mr. Wuhen's smile froze on his face. Hidden inside his sleeves, his fingers were already spread; the slightest movement would release his poison without a sound or trace.
Yet his whole body stiffened as though struck by an immobilization spell, unable to move.
A sharp, piercing chill rose in his heart. Although the other man's voice was mild, Mr. Wuhen felt as though an invisible sword hung above his head.
At the slightest rash movement, that "sword" would swoop down and harvest his head.
Hong Yuan then looked behind the others, toward a woman standing in a corner of