Zhu Jiuyin only glanced once and determined that the wounds on Cha Xiaodao and the Yan Zhao Club representative who came to greet guests were caused by this man kneeling on the ground, who appeared desolate and was wailing bitterly. He didn't even bother to ask a question, as an immense black bubble mysteriously enveloped the weeping man's head.
It didn't matter who the crier was, why he had injured people, or why he was wailing; what mattered was that he had disrupted Qin An's funeral, and for that, he had to die. The ins and outs of the matter would become clear once his Three Souls and Seven Spirits were thoroughly scraped away.
At the last moment, his hoarse cries finally reached Zhu Jiuyin's ears.
"Mr. Qin, I'm kowtowing to you."
Zhu Jiuyin's gaze turned stiff, and the black bubble hovering over the crier's head burst with a pop and disappeared.
Most of the representatives attending the funeral had come out, and they were all confused by what was unfolding before them.
