Xiang Yu, oblivious to the tempest brewing within Han Jia, dragged him roughly toward the conference room. He levelled the gun at Han Jia's temple, the cold metal pressing against his skin, an unspoken threat that sent shivers down his spine. Han Jia trembled, turning his head away, the terror palpable in his body language. Would Xiang Yu truly pull the trigger?
With a smug smile, Xiang Yu turned to the butler, his voice dripping with menace. "Where is he?"
The butler, recalling the earlier threats, was paralysed by fear, his composure shattered. He pointed a trembling finger down the long passageway, hoping against hope that of he complied it would ensure his survival. "At the end of the hall," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
