The struggle between Ye Zhen and Wang Chaling was at a stalemate.
The former wanted to keep fighting, while the latter wanted to more or less call it quits, unwilling to risk his life. However, things weren't up to Wang Chaling—if Ye Zhen didn't retreat, he had no choice but to keep going with him.
At this moment, Yang Jian was merely an ordinary onlooker, a bystander.
He sat in a food stall, sipping on cola and eating seafood and skewers, as if he hadn't seen their conflict at all.
He even felt like taking a leisurely stroll in Dadong City.
However, the direction of his stroll was somewhat peculiar, and before long, he found himself on an old road, sparsely populated, with dim streetlights and lush, ancient trees lining either side, exuding a sense of the passage of time.
And beside such an old road stood an old mansion from the Republic of China Period.
The mansion was dim, its iron gate tightly shut, long uninhabited, seemingly abandoned for a while.
