The No. 10 private room remained silent, but everyone clearly understood that the No. 8 private room was courting death; this was simply adding fuel to the fire.
After the statement was made, even Uncle Luo from the No. 10 private room let out a cold snort, his face clouding with anger. A fierce killing intent burst out of the room, directly bombarding the No. 8 private room. Although it was a stream of Dao Rhyme, it felt like the mighty Yangtze River rolling backwards, with a powerful sword intent permeating the air.
With a sneer, Jiang Zhong thought, a mere mid-Primordial Stage cultivator dares to be presumptuous in front of me. A phantom silhouette of a cauldron shot out from the top of the private room, its imposing aura like a huge pocket, ready to engulf all the sword intent in the sky.
