Chen Yi casually picked up a clean teacup, lifted the teapot, and the boiling tea poured into the cup, making a slight sound, exceptionally jarring.
He held the teacup to his mouth, gently blew on the steam, then took a slow sip.
Chen Yi put down the teacup, not even lifting his eyelids, and said a single word plainly, "Sit."
It was as if he was inviting the three as guests.
The three masked men were momentarily suspicious, though their killing intent did not diminish, their movements involuntarily halted. They exchanged a glance — was this person really so arrogant facing their encirclement?
"Who are you? What is your intention?" The lead masked man with the bone flute spoke coldly, his voice having the texture of metal scraping, breaking the stalemate. He did not sit, the tip of the bone flute still remotely pointed at Chen Yi's vital point.
"Heard the commotion inside," Chen Yi replied blandly, "so I came in to take a look."
