In no time, Mo Yunqi's wail of mourning was heard in the mountain.
At high noon, inside the Canglan Hall.
Mr. Ji sat at the head of the table. He drank from time to time and his whole person was still in an alcoholic haze, not very clear. Ji Anzhi sat in the first seat on his left who was slowly l*****g a pair of chopsticks holding in her hands. In the seat on Mr. Ji's right sat the skinhead man with a string of iron beads in his hand. The surface of those iron beads was pretty smooth and glittered with a faint glow. Apparently, they were not made of ordinary materials.
Mo Yunqi sat right next to the skinhead man whose appearance was really a bit miserable. His face was black and blue, and there were footprints all over his body. Even worse, the skinhead man sitting beside him glimps
