Feng Huaijin's gaze suddenly turned even colder, with no trace of light in it; his eyes were a dark, overcast gloom, like a dense winter fog, impossible to disperse and utterly without brightness.
That expression made the legs of the group of burly bodyguards go weak; in their hearts they kept cursing their bad luck—how did they end up running into something like this?
Logically speaking, this shouldn't have been within their scope of responsibility, but… Miss Su Li had an accident; they could hardly shirk the blame.
Feng Ciye swept them with a cold glance, the black polished leather shoes on his feet moving step by step forward; the chill over his whole body spread outward with his pace, making everyone's scalp prickle.
That austere face carried a bloodthirsty emotion, and the onlooking bystanders shrank their necks, hurriedly scurrying back to their own wards, not daring to keep watching.
Wasn't this probably an internal struggle of the Feng Family?
