"Heh-heh!"
Gudu Mohan chuckled and mocked, "Yan Rufeng, if you are afraid of death and don't want to confront me head-on, kneel before me and beg for mercy. Join under my command, and I can spare your life. But what do you mean by bringing out a woman's hairpin?"
"What do I mean?"
Yan Rufeng said lightly, "Gudu Mohan, stop pretending in front of me. This hairpin is identical to the ones worn by my two disciples, Qingxiao and Jiayao."
"If I'm not mistaken, this hairpin is also made by Nangong Jin."
"Heh-heh!"
Gudu Mohan sneered, "Yan Rufeng, I don't know what you're saying or what this means to you."
Yan Rufeng, hands behind his back, exuded an aura of authority and said calmly, "As far as I know, Nangong Jin died suddenly ten thousand years ago. Other than you, Gudu Mohan, there was no one else who could be the murderer."
Gudu Mohan's face tensed up at these words, and his heart trembled involuntarily.