Every time Chu Qing spoke, the aura felt heavier, and his voice was like a resounding bell, leaving him dizzy.
He could only grit his teeth and speak:
"It is... it's my mistake..."
Chu Qing snorted coldly, flicking his sleeve, and the pressure dissipated completely.
Large beads of sweat appeared on Han Yiren's forehead. In the instant he looked up at Chu Qing, a murderous intent flashed across his eyes, but he quickly lowered his head, hiding this intent without revealing a trace.
Chu Qing spoke indifferently:
"Do well tomorrow, and you, your son, and the entire Little Cold Valley can live."
After saying this, he turned around.
Han Yiren nodded:
"Yes, please enlighten me, Esteemed Envoy, about the purpose of gathering everyone at Little Cold Valley tomorrow?"
Chu Qing frowned slightly, looking at him with surprise:
"You don't know?"
Han Yiren felt a profound sadness, letting out a bitter laugh:
