Leng Changrui ignored Xirong's puzzled gaze. Just as he was about to raise his hand, Xirong's entire body leaned back slightly and then, with confusion, he asked, "You, you, you—what are you going to do?"
After he asked, he almost bit his own tongue. How could such a seemingly weak and stuttering person be him? Was it really him? He certainly wouldn't admit it. How could someone like him, so important and prominent, possibly be weak and afraid?
However, however, the man in front of him really exuded a powerful aura. Just standing there, not saying a word and just with a cold look, was enough to make one feel controlled or restrained. And he had only ever felt this kind of presence from his father before, but compared to the man in front of him, his father's presence was like a small witch in the presence of a great wizard.
