East Sea looked at Zhan Li with disdain in his eyes, sneered and said, "As for the second point, go and serve that child. Be his servant, be his bodyguard. Before he leaves Southern Border, if he loses another hair, or even gets a scratch, you should just die!"
Zhan Li's forehead was covered in sweat, his expression was dazed with a hint of despair, his lips trembled but he couldn't utter a single word.
"The previous message is directly from the Ancestor, given for me to relay to you—it was spoken by the Ancestor themselves, and I haven't left out a single word, even tried to maintain the tone as much as possible."
East Sea's eyes carried deep mockery as he sneered, "Zhan Li, you silly girl, you've truly broken new ground in the Ghost Race.
The Ghost Race has eighteen divisions, and eighteen Yamas, each of whom rarely gets a chance to speak more than ten words to the Ancestor in a year.
