The crowd dispersed, and on the circular platform, that Young Master of Qingfeng Pavilion, Lu Yuanjun, cupped his hands towards the Princely Heir in the pavilion, raising his eyebrows,
"Great tolerance, Princely Heir!"
Saying this, he leapt away gracefully like a dragonfly skimming the water.
In the pavilion, the Princely Heir chuckled, but it was unclear what he found amusing.
The farce came to an end!
....
Not long after, in a room of the official residence, the darkness inside contrasted sharply with the bright lights outside.
Inside the room, several people from East Xuan Mountain gathered in a room, the atmosphere cold as ice.
In the darkness, Han Zhong stood with his back turned, while the fourth disciple Shen Jian knelt on the ground, his face ashen, with blood dripping from the flesh buds on his severed arm.
Elder Qi and his three True Disciples watched coldly from the side, their expressions grim.
