That afternoon, the sky darkened and clouds hung low, threatening to crush the city.
Outside the Postal Station, hoofbeats clattered.
Not one rider, but more than a dozen arrived together.
The man at their head wore a narrow-sleeved purple robe, cinched tightly at the waist, and strode like the wind.
Behind him came more than a dozen personal guards, each with a saber at his waist, solemn and silent.
The stationmaster emerged at the sound. At the sight of the newcomer, his knees weakened, but he forced himself forward with hurried little steps.
Before he could speak, a guard swept him aside with an arm, sending him stumbling to the roadside.
Xiong Hui did not spare him a glance. He strode straight into the Postal Station and climbed the stairs, his boots beating like drums.
The door to the second-floor room already stood open.
Wei Nisheng sat behind the desk, his expression unchanged, neither startled nor surprised.
Zhang Zai sat beside him. He looked up at the sound, his brows drawing together slightly.
Bang!!
A palm shoved the door aside, slamming it into the wall with a dull crash.
Xiong Hui stood in the doorway, his eyes like knife edges, gouging straight at the man seated behind the desk.
He neither advanced nor retreated, and said not a word.
His guards filed in behind him and lined up on either side, hands on their saber hilts, eyes like hawks and vultures patrolling the eaves.
Zhou Hu followed them inside and stood close to the door, saying quietly,
"My lord, this is..."
"No need for introductions." Xiong Hui cut him off with a raised hand and stepped across the threshold.
He advanced step by step until he reached the desk, towering over the seated man.
Anyone else subjected to such