"Ghk..."
Sang Mu clutched at his neck, but blood sprayed out from between his fingers, impossible to stop. He looked at Qing Yu Daoist in terror, wanting to say something, but as soon as he opened his mouth, a gush of blood flowed out.
With a thud, Sang Mu collapsed to the ground, his breath gradually fading.
Qing Yu turned, sat back down in his chair, and picked up his teacup.
Yes, the tea was still warm.
But the corpse on the ground was already growing cold.
Looking at the many corpses on the floor, Zhao Hedong and his son Zhao Ping turned pale, their bodies drenched in cold sweat.
Zhao Ping gulped, feeling his limbs go weak, barely able to remain standing.
Lord Liu's top warrior, Sang Tu's own brother, is dead? And killed with a single slash to the throat?
