Yang PeiMin had just stepped out of the hall when he saw Yang Dahai greeting Huang Jianxin.
Why is he here?
Clad in a neat green military uniform, his hair slicked back with oil, chin slightly lifted, his face a picture of joviality, he stood in the courtyard, conspicuously visible.
At this moment, the courtyard, like Zhao ManCang's banquet, had seats laid out. Apart from a few women warming themselves inside, most of the men were sitting, chatting while waiting for the feast to begin. And now, most of their gazes were captivated by the striking figure of Huang Jianxin.
