Instigation

The three abruptly broke off, stopping short as they looked at Chu Zhiyuan, who had suddenly appeared across from them.

Lean and upright, handsome and imposing yet gentle and serene in bearing, he stood smiling atop a treetop, watching them with a warm smile.

There was not a trace of killing intent in his expression, as though he had run into old friends.

Behind Chu Zhiyuan, another green figure drifted out from the woods—it was Fu Zheng.

Fu Zheng held a long sword, its gleam cold and dim, its tip slanting toward the three men.

Her expression was indifferent, her clear eyes icy.

Zhou Yifan's face darkened slightly. He cupped his fists. "Greetings, Imperial Son-in-Law."

Chu Zhiyuan waved a hand without looking at him, his gaze settling on the two middle-aged men as he assessed them from head to toe.

The two middle-aged men wore gloomy expressions.

Their gazes swept around them.

"Yuanzhen's?" Chu Zhiyuan asked with a smile.

The two middle-aged men remained grim and said nothing, merely scanning their surroundings.

Their thoughts raced, and they already wished to retreat. Yet they also knew full well that escaping now would not be so easy.

Chu Zhiyuan's lightness skill was peerless; neither of them could match him.

Thus, if they wished to flee with their lives, they needed to devise a reliable plan—first, they had to hold him off.

But how could they hold him off?

It was already too late for a surprise attack. They could only borrow another's hand.

Who could still hold him back now?

Neither of them could do it alone. Could Zhou Yifan?

Their gazes turned toward Zhou Yifan.

When Zhou Yifan's eyes met theirs, he vaguely understood what they meant.

His thoughts turned, and after taking a deep breath, he said resolutely, "Imperial Son-in-Law,