On the main road, the autumn wind swept up a few withered yellow leaves, which spiraled between the two men.
Fang Han stopped in his tracks. His right hand quietly came to rest on the hilt of his sword as his gaze, as serene as still water, fell upon the dark gold figure before him.
Qi Zhen stood with his hands behind his back, his dark gold brocade robe shimmering with a cold luster in the afternoon sun.
The long saber at his waist trembled faintly with each breath, like a dormant beast slowly opening its eyes.
"Gang Leader Qi."
Fang Han spoke, his voice quiet but clear enough to reach the other man's ears.
"You're blocking my path. What do you want?"
Qi Zhen raised his eyes, his sharp gaze landing on Fang Han as the corners of his mouth slowly curved into an icy smile.
"And where might True Inheritor Fang be heading?"
His voice was low and hoarse, like sandpaper, tinged with a probing and scrutinizing tone.
