“It’s you again.”

Shen Tianhai’s voice turned cold, like a blade tempered in ice water, carrying an anger born of offense, “I’ve already warned you not to meddle in other people’s business. Can’t you understand human language?”

Chen Ping glanced at him, his purple eyes devoid of any emotion, as if he were looking at something unrelated to himself, and simply said, “One should be kind and considerate.”

Shen Tianhai was stunned for a moment, then let out a cold laugh.

The laughter carried on the night wind, with the absurd feeling of a superior being provoked by an ant: “Kindness? You, a rogue cultivator from out of town, dare to talk to me about kindness? Since you insist on courting death, don’t blame me for being impolite.”

He waved his hand, a small gesture, but one that carried an undeniable command: “Take him down.”

The three elders moved simultaneously.