The scent of fragrant plum leaves wafted through the air as a middle-aged man poured a steaming pot of tea at a nearby table, his movements slow and practiced.
Shun Long sat by the balcony, on the table right next to him, his gaze fixed casually on the Ma family estate in the distance.
He knew the way the Lunar Grave guild operated. They'd kill anyone and everyone as long as the price was right.
But that wasn't how Shun Long did things.
It wasn't that he saw himself as some righteous cultivator, upholding fairness and justice above all else. No, he simply refused to let others dictate his blade. Whether someone lived or died by his hand, that decision would be his alone.
Not the guild's. Not the client's. Not anyone else's.
A moment later, the waiter arrived with his tea, a clear, steaming brew that carried a soft floral aroma, similar to the middle-aged man's on the next table.
