A portly forty-something in an official's costume came stumbling past as fast as he could.
Tributor Ding glanced at Yu Xian, who remained unmoved, and felt confident about his plan.
Whoosh!
A bead of blood flew through the air.
Wu Ziyi clutched his throat, eyes wide, disbelieving that he himself would die like this.
"My son! My son!"
The portly man fell to the ground, weeping loudly, cradling Wu Ziyi's lifeless body.
The anger of Wu Family's servants dissipated when they saw how distraught their young master was.
To them, they had only lost one tendon, but the young master had lost his life.
The wails eventually caught the attention of the people inside the cabin.
A middle-aged noblewoman, who had been chatting and laughing with Princess Consort, stepped out of the cabin upon seeing this scene. She paused for a moment and then changed expression instantly.
"Husband! Who?! Who killed my son?!"
"Chief Yu, what happened?"
