He let out a cold laugh, his voice like a night owl's cry: "Listen well, you little whelps! Within a hundred miles of the Helan Mountain Range, every blade of grass and every tree belongs to my Nine Flags Gang. Whoever trespasses today has but one road before him—death!"
Before his words had faded, three burly men with purple-tinted cheeks spread out in the shape of a Three Talents Array, encircling them. The skull patterns on the steel knives at their waists seemed like living things, exhaling icy breath, glimmering a ghastly blue beneath the snow's sheen.
Guo Xiangyu's dark brows were usually like fresh ink upon a new moon, yet now they knit into a sharp sword peak, as if to cleave apart all the arrogance of the Nine Flags Gang.
