Mo Yunsheng sat in the center of the main hall, crossing his legs, one hand gently resting on his temple, eyes slightly closed, taking a short rest.
The other hand hung loosely, empty, holding nothing.
Today, Feng Qingshui was to be executed.
However, Mo Yunsheng felt at peace, as if he had already convinced himself, confidently accepting the decision to execute Feng Qingshui.
A few days ago, he announced to the Xuan Clan.
Feng Qingshui, holding grudges, had murdered Mo Chen, and was to be executed at a chosen date.
The Xuan Clan was in an uproar.
Yet, no one dared to question or oppose.
But today.
Mo Yunsheng sensed a faint unease.
"Any developments?"
He asked softly, eyes closed.
The matter he referred to was not trivial affairs but Lin Fan.
"So far, no sign of Lin Fan has been found."
A subordinate bowed and replied in a low voice.
He was one of the spies Mo Yunsheng had placed in the Main City.
