The audience instantly fell silent.
"Eh?" Zhan Yuanshan looked at Zhan Qipei, who had taken Qiao Jing into his protective embrace, and made a puzzled sound as he squinted his wise old eyes to watch closely.
As he watched, he nodded in approval.
This grandson of his, he had indeed not misjudged, was beginning to get on the right track.
"I, I didn't do it on purpose—" Lou Xinrou, terrified and shivering, paused for two seconds before hurriedly throwing the sword to the ground and rushing over to Zhan Qipei's side.
"Brother Pei, are you, are you alright? Did it hurt you? I didn't do it on purpose, I really didn't," Lou Xinrou said, almost crying from fear, looking at Zhan Qipei's back with a pained expression.
"Brother Pei, take off your clothes, let me help you check," Lou Xinrou said, reaching out to touch Zhan Qipei.
"Get your hand away." Zhan Qipei's expression was dark, and cold frost swirled in the depths of his eyes.
