Time, as fleet as a shuttle, had swiftly passed by two days.
Although the common folk of the Capital City truly could not sense any change within the city, the scions of the Great Jin Dynasty's powerful families were all exceedingly busy.
Their preoccupation was indeed singular: to gather outside the Wang Clan's prison for the condemned, awaiting the emergence of that one person.
Looking towards the endless sky, Sikong Longxiang grew a trace of impatience in his eyes, anxious as to why Zheng Ming had not yet come out at this time.
Although he had calculated that Zheng Ming, within this dire strait, had absolutely no moves left to make, a tinge of unease remained in his heart.
He faintly sensed an eerie calmness, like the one before a storm. This stillness was truly suffocating for him.
A storm stirred up by Zheng Ming's might? How could that be possible? This was the Capital City, after all, with a first-class elder presiding over it.
