Until this very moment.
Luo Cong finally realized how serious things were.
That sword.
Kept trembling, its clangor unending.
The threads of killing intent spilling out gnawed at his bones, as if they were going to freeze all the blood in his body.
Luo Cong's face turned greenish, his lips and teeth quivered, both hands propping himself on the ground as cold sweat poured down in streams.
Only when Chen Yang stepped into the courtyard with one foot did that feeling of being stared at by Death itself gradually dissipate. Luo Cong was then finally relieved, almost collapsing to the ground as he gasped for breath.
Luo Xian glared at him fiercely, got up in a fluster, and hurriedly followed Chen Yang.
The residence was large and exquisitely decorated.
Some of the servants had long since withdrawn to the back courtyard.
Many things, for them, were a crime to witness even if they merely saw them.
For example, someone like Luo Xian right now.
