"Shen Ling." Shen Feng called out.
"Here." A forty-year-old middle-aged man who sat beneath him stood up and bowed respectfully.
"You were in charge of the arrangements in the dungeon. Recount the happenings of that day." Shen Feng's stern gaze swept across Shen Ling and the tenderness that a father should have had for their child was nowhere to be seen in his wise and farsighted gaze. Instead, there was only the imposing aura of someone who was at the top of the hierarchy.
Shen Ling smiled inwardly in bitterness. He was Shen Feng's fourth son, and excluding Shen Yu who passed away, he was the youngest among the second-generation family members. However, when compared to Shen Yu, who was a master of pen and sword, he seemed much more mediocre, and he was also not favored by Shen Feng. The dungeon incident happened to be within the scope of his responsibility.
