Upon hearing that members of the Renovation Team were talking more and more outrageously, Zheng Hua shouted coldly, "Enough!"
"Swallow these groundless speculations back."
"I know at this moment, you all are filled with grief and anger. But do not let these emotions cloud your judgment. Remember! You bear the Zheng surname and carry the honor of our Zheng Family."
"Don't give outsiders a laugh. Please invite Ning Zhuo inside."
Ning Zhuo walked into the hall.
At a glance, everything was covered in white mourning cloth.
Zheng Family Cultivators lined up on both sides. Some held their necks high, eyes tightly shut, silently shedding tears. Others knelt on the ground covering their faces, burning paper money. Most turned their heads to stare at Ning Zhuo with anger.
Zheng Jian's presence had been greatly esteemed in life, and his death had united the Zheng Family Renovation Team in both grief and rage, evoking a sense of mournful soldiers.
