"Elder, are you referring to Zhu Bufan, who was sent over from You State three years ago?" Zhu Rong softly asked.
"Of course, it's him!" Zhu Yuheng said gruffly.
"But Elder, Zhu Bufan's cultivation is truly..." Zhu Rong hesitated.
The old man suddenly raised his head, squinting his eyes and staring intently at Zhu Rong.
Zhu Rong felt as though he was being watched by a venomous snake, the hairs on his body standing on end in an instant, a chill creeping into his very bones. It was as if a massive rock was pressing on his heart; he knew that if this old man before him wanted to take his life, it would be as easy as lifting a hand. This immense psychological pressure unconsciously made Zhu Rong retreat several steps to put a safe distance between them.
Although Zhu Rong was an Eighth Rank martial artist, the inscrutably powerful Zhu Yuheng did not provoke even the slightest thought of resistance in him.
"What? You do not understand my meaning?" Zhu Yuheng's voice was cold as ice.
