Suddenly, he grabbed Ding Zhen and threw him in front of Ding Yang's bed. The elderly man, with silver hair, was in a frenzied dance, his complexion gloomy, his words piercing to the bone. "Stop your nonsense. Now tell me the whereabouts of Ye Fengsheng's voice, or else I will break your brother's bones one by one in front of you!"
"Enough."
As the man spat out a cup of light wine, he swung a large sleeve. A visible ripple spread from his sleeve, hitting the king's elbow after being propelled into the air.
An indescribable force made his arm tremble and sweat stream down.
"If you want to regain your spiritual consciousness, don't you want to peel away all your skin and flesh, replacing it instead?"
From Ye Fengsheng's previous words, he formed his own judgment. Qiu Juan's face was filled with complexity, knowing he wouldn't mind peeling the skin and cutting flesh in Ye Fengsheng's way, even if dead, fearing no chance of recovering strength.
