Unbeknownst to many, the Yan Zhao Club was drawing to a close.
The representatives of the News Conference had mostly arrived. These latecomers were largely in disarray, and they could only learn about the earlier events through whispers. The formal announcement of the October proposal, in particular, startled many.
Pang Chunhao entered the meeting hall of the Yan Zhao Club, his body exuding a strong smell of blood. Over his shoulders, he wore a tattered suit jacket, a black vest, and trousers. His blocky muscles bulged out, covered with brown, tubercular scars that made him look fierce and terrifying.
He looked around the venue; the first four seats were already occupied, and the fifth row had only a few spots left at the corners—about a dozen in all.
