Time passed, second by second.
Many members of the opera troupe turned their eyes towards Su Xianjun's room, unsure whether they were anticipating Su Xianjun to perform for the Eastern Barbarian invaders and save the lives of the citizens of the entire city.
Yet no matter how Yang Xinyan tried to persuade him, Su Xianjun remained unmoved.
It was then that a small door opened, and a scholar-like figure made his way to the theater's backstage.
Everyone tensed up in an instant.
However, the scholar stepped aside, letting out Wang Jinhui, who was behind him.
"Mr. Wang, please."
Wang Jinhui's complexion was ashen, with fine beads of sweat on his forehead, his left hand stiff and trembling slightly in front of him, his little finger wrapped in a piece of white cloth, stained with traces of blood.