The Elder was already on edge from his conversation with Zhao Moyao. Hearing Yang Feng's words only drove him to the borderline of madness. "So, she's alive?!"
Yang Feng's face darkened and his presence became more violent than the previous storm. His hostility demanded blood to be spilled while his brain conjured up sinister thoughts. His brooding aura alone could destroy the city without leaving a trace behind.
"You intend to kill my wife?" Yang Feng's eyes never showed a trace of humanity within them; resembling the eyes of the Devil, hopelessly black.
Yang Mujian settled down when he realized his grandson was not talking about the late Matriarch but about that wench instead. "Kill her? Do you think I've become senile to the point where I can't distinguish between which neck can be touched and which can't?" He collapsed back onto his seat and ran a hand over his face — an action that Yang Feng had never witnessed.
