"Master, quickly avenge your disciple!"
Nangong Jian, like a drowning man who had found a life-saving straw, had an ecstatic look on his face as he bellowed toward the middle-aged man who stepped out from the crowd.
The middle-aged man was dressed in luxurious brocade.
He wore a white cloud belt around his waist, his long hair tied behind him, holding a folding fan in his hand.
Upon hearing Nangong Jian's shout, the middle-aged man was first startled, and his fan paused. He then followed the sound and saw Nangong Jian's pitiful state, his face suddenly contorted, and he snapped the fan shut with a loud clap.
Whoosh!
The middle-aged man was, in a flash, standing right in front of Nangong Jian.
Looking at Nangong Jian, whose arms were severed at the shoulders.
The middle-aged man's eyes were blood-red.
