Hearing this, Fang Han's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
The faces of many young people from Qingyang County turned cold, and their eyes shifted toward the source of the voice.
On the eastern side of the basin, eight young men stood atop a protruding boulder.
They were all dressed in identical, dark blue martial attire, with a silver lightning bolt embroidered on their cuffs.
The leader was a tall, slender man of about twenty-five or twenty-six. His features could be considered handsome, but his narrow eyes held an undisguised arrogance.
He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the group from Qingyang County. A slight smirk touched his lips; he was the one who had just spoken.
"They're from Thunderlight Pavilion in Donglu County."
Chen Wuhen spoke. The folding fan in his hand had stopped moving. His gaze fell upon their disciple's robes, a glint of coldness in his eyes.
