"Alright."
Suddenly, the King of Han, who had been in a frantic state, devoid of any royal demeanor, ceased his shouting. A cold, scheming light gleamed in his eyes. He looked at the high walls and the large courtyard, the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly, revealing a faint, cold smile on his face.
At last, he had succeeded.
"Ye Cong."
Standing in the darkness, the King of Han's voice was cold and emotionless. The python patterns seemed particularly fierce in the night: "Bait and rod, it's time to make a move."
"Reporting to the King of Han."
Cloaked entirely in black, a man hid in the darkness, kneeling half-way in front of the King of Han and spoke with the utmost respect: "The bait has been set, the rod positioned, we are only waiting for the fish to bite now."
"Good."
Only now did a trace of faint approval appear on the King of Han's face. He patted the shoulder of the man known as Ye Cong, his voice trailing off:
