This scolding shattered the heavens and left Ruan Zhanhui stunned as well.
A burly man with fiery eyes pushed through the crowd, storming straight toward him, seething with rage.
Ruan Zhanhui's heart was fraught with doubts. Intent on gauging the newcomer's stance, he clasped his hands in a greeting and said, "May I ask which family's friend this is? I am Ruan Zhanhui of the Taiping Sect, at your service."
Hong Liangyu recognized the voice. Instead of leaping onto the Dharma Platform to chastise the man, he sized up Ruan Zhanhui for a moment, his gaze quickly settling on the buffalo leather gun holster at Ruan's waist, his brows knitting then relaxing.
With a sidelong glance, he spotted two other men about ten paces to his right, dressed just like Ruan Zhanhui, both wearing Western pistols at their waists and a stack of talisman paper tucked behind their backs, glaring furiously at him. Without a word, he knew they came from the same origins as Ruan Zhanhui on the platform.
