She knew they were trying to put her in her place, to make her easier to control.
But with a flick of her wrist, Su Ye sent a square handkerchief flying.
The man in black raised his longsword to block it, but the handkerchief was as soft as the wind. It drifted lightly toward his neck, and then—SLIT.
The soft handkerchief had instantly become as sharp as a blade, cleanly severing the man's head from his shoulders.
Blood sprayed across the room, splattering all over the scrawny man.
The entire hall fell silent.
Su Ye slowly raised her head, her gaze sweeping over everyone present.
With her eyes half-closed, she walked to the side, pulled over a chair, and sat down. Her voice was light.
"You invite me here, yet you don't even offer me a seat. Your hospitality is lacking, Yang Family Master."
A faint smile touched her lips, but her eyes were as calm as still water, betraying no emotion.
From his high seat, the Yang Family Master stared intently at Su Ye.
