The higher your generation and the further forward you sit in the sedan chair, sometimes that isn't a good thing.
Those in the sedan at the back had already seen Zhao Yi go mad.
Even though Zhao Shan'an had smelled something off about Zhao Yi, he didn’t immediately leap to the most extreme conclusion.
Because that wouldn’t make sense.
Rage has momentum.
In a wave like this, to ride the curl of it — kill members of the Zhao family first, then disguise yourself as one of them, finally slip back into the ancestral compound and assassinate the Great Elder — that fit the pattern of past tides.
The river doesn’t flow straight; it always has a build-up, a process.
But this time, something changed.
When the Second Elder laid out the truth and tore his face open with words, Zhao Shan'an felt a chill and stepped back fast.
His toe had barely hit the ground before the Second Elder had reappeared before him, ghostlike in form but still wearing a kindly face.
Zhao Shan'an tried to retreat again, but the Second Elder had already stepped aside first, blocking the only path Zhao Shan'an had to fall back on.
The little old man held a lantern in one hand and pushed his palm out with the other, waiting for prey to take the bait.
Yet what struck him was not Zhao Shan'an himself, but a sword.