Feng Qingshui looked ashen-faced.
He knew well.
Meeting Mo Chen in this state would only lead to one result—death.
Not just death.
But complete disgrace!
Infamy for eternity!
Becoming a permanent shame for the Xuan Clan!
Lost both my son and my men, this loss was huge.
A dull pain throbbed in Feng Qingshui's heart.
He covered the bloody wound, struggling to stand up, gazing far off at Lin Fan's silhouette.
...
A deathly stare.
His scalp tingled.
His spine chilled.
Feng Qingshui dared not lift his head.
But he could vaguely feel Mo Chen's gaze scrutinizing him, eventually settling on the wound on his chest.
Instinctively, he covered it a bit, his eyes avoiding.
Since they hadn't found Yi Tianqiu yet, and because Jingnian suddenly fainted, Mo Chen either deliberately or forgetfully didn't let the hundreds of thousands of guests leave.
Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Feng Qingshui walked in clutching his bloodied chest.
