The wait lasted all day until dusk.
The horizon was already tinged with a golden hue, and the sky was about to darken.
Not only Dongmen Buju and Zhu Qilue, but even billions of people had been waiting here for nearly ten hours.
Ten hours!
Zhu Qilue stood like a statue, motionless, eyes fixed on the direction of the Xuan Clan.
Dongmen Buju was already impatient.
From patiently waiting in the morning, to pacing back and forth at noon, to now sitting angrily in his chair, eyes wide with fury.
Yet he did not dare to lose his temper with Zhu Qilue.
He could only vent all his anger on a small soldier.
The poor soldier was beaten until his head was bloody, and was unrecognizable, unable to even cry out, becoming a punching bag for Dongmen Buju.
He lay on the ground, barely breathing, like a dying dog.
At first, the crowd could remain patient.
But after ten hours passed and Lin Fan still did not show up, the scene before them still as if frozen, they watched with growing boredom.
