"I haven't even sat in that position..."
Jiang Zhenhuan's fingers lightly tapped the table, clearly distinguishable and rhythmically striking the solid wood, his peripheral vision taking in Jiang Zhaolin, whose face was iron blue.
His eyes harbored killer intent.
"Don't reach out your hand too far."
"You understand the principle, don't you? There's no need for me to teach you, right? Zhaolin? What do you think..."
"Uncle passed away early, father cherished you, and although we are not brothers by the same mother, over these years, I hadn't really spoken harshly to you. But everything must have a limit, and if you go too far, be careful you don't play with fire and burn yourself."
All these years, Jiang Zhenhuan truly had nothing to criticize about him.
