I'll say it again, I didn't do anything with that batch of food. Lin Xing slapped the dagger on the table, and the blade embedded into the oak tabletop, shaking the candlelight. The old butler opposite didn't hide, didn't even raise his eyelids, he just slowly picked up the teacup: Your Highness, tell His Majesty this. The old slave just passes the message. Send a message? Lin Xing sneered, stretched out his hand and pulled open his collar, revealing the newly scabbed whip mark above his collarbone. Do you call this a message?
