The hot-headed hall master, with a gun pressed against him, could no longer bear the nonsense and shouted, "Fuck, Elder Zhao, you're really good at making shit up, portraying yourself like some kind of savior. You're nothing but a despicable lowlife, a traitor without honor."
Elder Zhao made a signal with his eyes, and the man holding the gun jabbed the dark barrel into his forehead a bit harder, the message was clear: shut up or face the consequences.
The man had been holding back for what felt like an eternity; he detested such antics the most. If it wasn't for the young master signaling him continuously, he would have lashed out long ago: "Trying to frighten me? I, Lao Zhu, wasn't raised to be afraid. If you, Zhao, have the guts, kill me. In eighteen years, I'll be back as a hero, and then I'll make sure to wipe out your entire family."
