Following the voice, a man in his thirties dressed in red slowly walked into the courtyard. His face was handsome, his clothes exquisite. He lightly waved a purple Folding Fan, carrying himself with the refined grace of a young master from a Noble Family.
The man in red looked harmless, but Zhaang Ye keenly sensed that this person's cultivation was a notch higher than Zhang Bushuai's. He was an expert at the Martial Arts Seventh Layer Late Stage.
What particularly caught Zhaang Ye's attention was the faint, almost imperceptible killing intent hidden beneath the man's nonchalant demeanor. Zhaang Ye had met many people and knew that men like this were like venomous snakes in the grass—insidious, dangerous, and one careless move could lead to one's downfall at their hands.
