The icy voice swept across the courtyard, like a cold autumn breeze sweeping over the land, sending chills down the spine.
Li Changlin tightened his grip slightly on the long staff, sweat beading on his forehead, and his shoulders couldn't help but tremble.
He wanted to move because even if Qin An's long saber was at his neck, he felt he could still fight back.
However, Qin An's words echoed in his mind like a curse.
This voice, like a curse, made his heart feel as if it had been doused with cold water.
He knew that if he really moved, Qin An might just draw his saber and chop off his head.
The onlookers around also heard Qin An's voice and were all surprised.
Some gripped their weapons and said nothing, while others silently took a step back, pondering the gap between themselves and Li Changlin.
Some shook their heads and turned to leave the courtyard.
