"Hmm. Now it's time to deal with these clowns…" Wang Chen's voice was a low rumble, as calm and inevitable as distant thunder.
Vice-Head Zhang stepped forward, chin raised, the swagger of a man used to making others crawl. "So you're that shameless bastard who forcibly took over our property and refused to pay rent?"
His words were meant to provoke; his posture to intimidate. When Zhang's sharp eyes registered Wang Chen's cultivation—only Qi Refining—his momentary caution dissolved into contempt. A sneer curled his lip. A mere Qi Refining trash dares to posture? He tasted the victory in the air already.
Wang Chen gave no outward reaction. He didn't need bluster. He scanned the alley with marrow eyes, clinical scrutiny that made the blood in the veins of lesser men run thin. Around him, fifty or so Blood Fang operatives shifted and bristled—most ordinary Qi Refiners, a handful tougher. All of them smelled of fear masked by bravado.
