He held up five fingers. "Fifty thousand! Not a single cent less! And that rabid dog must be killed immediately! Beaten to death right in front of my very eyes! Or else..."
He hadn't finished speaking before his voice suddenly cut off, as if an invisible hand had clamped around his throat.
Yang Qi, who had been expressionless the whole time, lifted his eyes and glanced at him.
It wasn't an ordinary gaze.
Yang Qi's eyes were placid, but deep within his pupils, it was as if a frozen lake lay still—profound, glacial, and filled with a piercing indifference. There was also a faint, almost imperceptible condescension, the way one might look down upon an ant.
This was compounded by a chilling aura that could only come from a Qi Cultivation Seventh Layer cultivator—one who had survived life-or-death struggles and kept company with ferocious, avian Spirit Beasts.
