"Mr. Ximen, the kind of illness in your head can't be cured by the quacks in the city; you need to open the skull and look at the lesion," Yi Chen mimed a watermelon-splitting gesture, "If I may be frank, I, the Sky-Turning Falcon, am actually a physician, quite skilled in this field."
"Brother..." Ximen started to speak but was cut off as the middle-aged man of average height abruptly began to chant something under his breath.
"Fall, fall, fall, fall, fall."
Clap clap clap clap.
As soon as these words were uttered, four figures consequently fell down.
Only Yi Chen continued to eat with relish, which seemed quite incongruous.
At this moment, the middle-aged man put down his chopsticks, his pupils vanished, revealing only the whites of his eyes while the girl in white who had been chatting with the black-clad old servant twisted her neck a full one hundred and eighty degrees—all eyes were intently focused on Yi Chen.
