C1444 Wan Qingyang

Crash!

The sound of shattered porcelain echoed throughout the hall.

The faces of those below paled as they dropped to their knees, urgently crying out, "Sect Master, we beg for your mercy."

Atop the hall stood a middle-aged man adorned in a brocade robe, his temples graced with streaks of white and a goatee framing his mouth. His eyes, deep-set and usually stern, now blazed with unbridled fury