In the pitch-black night, all Chairman Qian could see was a figure shrouded in white light, flickering incessantly before his eyes.
Each flicker left a ghostly afterimage in its wake, and with every afterimage that vanished, another of his thugs collapsed, groaning in pain on the ground.
Fast. Incredibly fast. A ghostly speed.
Although Chairman Qian was a merchant, he had dealt with his fair share of Jianghu People, so his eye for such things was sharp.
Beads of sweat dotted Chairman Qian's forehead as the feeling of impending death washed over him, immense and crushing as a mountain.
A moment later, the ground was littered with his thugs, all screaming in agony. Not even his steward was spared.
Chairman Qian felt a hand grip his throat. The specter of death clung to him, leaving him breathless.
The man's voice in his ear was like a death knell, sending a chill through Chairman Qian's entire body as if he'd been plunged into a cavern of ice.
