The qin strings were plucked, and like a wire for slitting throats, they swept fiercely across.
The golden cup before Zhu Minglang was cleaved in two, no different from cutting through tofu.
Zhu Minglang, as if he had been prepared for the grating sound of the qin, used his Spiritual Sense to protect his five senses and, taking advantage of the situation, he pushed the table, leaning back in his chair. Just as he was about to lose balance, he hooked the edge of the table with the tips of his feet.
Dodging the murderous qin strings, Zhu Minglang quickly returned to his original seated position, his pupils suddenly ablaze with intense flames, with black fire surging and swelling within the depths of his eyes...
