"Murder! Murder!"
What followed was utter pandemonium.
If the narrow Xinghua Alley hadn't been packed with so many people, some would have turned and fled in terror the moment Xie Ruijing grabbed a nearby harrow and brought it crashing down on Xie Ruiyang's head.
But the alley was narrow, and with people packed in on all sides, a chaotic surge of pushing and shoving erupted among the onlookers.
Xie Ruijing, the one who had struck the blow, stood frozen to the spot, the weapon still in his hands. The harrow's tines were iron and sharp. Now, they were stained scarlet, dripping thick, steaming blood onto the ground drop by drop.
Xie Ruijing was scared senseless.
He certainly had his hands in plenty of dirty business, and some of it had even led to people's deaths. But those were matters he had always casually ordered his underlings to handle. When had he ever killed someone with his own hands?
