Zhao Fan led Ye Tian and the other three toward a table in the corner of the palace. There was a table there with relatively few people, only three or four, more than enough to seat Ye Tian's group of four.
However, before Zhao Fan could seat Ye Tian and the other three, the three or four people at that table raised their heads…
One of them, a burly man with a tall frame and seven fingers on each hand, suddenly widened his bell-like eyes.
"Pa!"
He slammed the wine cup in his hand down hard on the table.
Very loud.
"What's the meaning of this? These ant-like Qing Yan Clan scum are worthy of sitting at the same table as us? And there's even a Human? Are you trying to insult us?"
The burly man shouted at Zhao Fan.
