"Arrived?"
In the main hall of Gotham, the old scholar slouched in the rattan chair, took a sip of fine wine from the spout of the pot, smacked his lips, and drawled, "No longer hiding?"
"Hide?"
Stretching out his hand, he pushed open the great doors feebly, his scar-covered Zhang Suohao curled the corners of his mouth, his expression almost mad, yet filled with an unsettling despair and pain, "Where could I hide?"
"In the vast Beiliang, there is no place for me."
"Do you know why?"
The old scholar looked up at Zhang Suohao, his tone unwavering, yet possessed the sternness of a teacher, "Do you know why you have fallen to this step?"
"A lecture now? Or do you think you can redeem me?"
