Feng Lingling's roar sounded bleak and despairing, like that of a wounded beast that had fallen into a trap. The sonorous yet hoarse voice towered into the sky, stirring the air and filling the streets of the city with strong wind as if some Gales had raised twisters in the place. Gray dust was being pushed away in all directions. It looked like a gray iron curtain was being unfolded.
The old man smiled faintly. With the imperial decree held in his hands, he shouted in a deep voice, "It is not you who will decide what crime you have committed. Feng Lingling, surrender now and you will still have a chance to live. If you continue to put up a stiff resistance, do not blame the army for being merciless, as they will definitely slaughter the entire Zhong Ning City!"
