The atmosphere at the temporary market was somewhat eerie. Li Qing and his companions had already switched to other topics of conversation, while Chang Qisheng continued to howl in agony amidst the lightning, his voice getting weaker and weaker, seemingly at his last breath.
As for the few young men who had come with him, they had already hidden themselves far away, afraid that even a drop of blood might splatter onto them. Each held a cell phone in hand, some making calls, others had already finished their calls.
The only person in the field who neither could advance nor retreat, appearing somewhat at a loss, was probably the middle-aged man.
He was likely employed by the Chang Clan as a bodyguard or something of the sort for the young master, Chang Qisheng.
The stall owners around them instantly became onlookers, abandoning their own booths and craning their necks to watch the scene unfold.
