"Sir, Mu Qingtong is still in the competition," a cloaked figure approached the window to glance outside before turning back respectfully.
The middle-aged man nodded and looked around to make sure no one was hidden in the room, then he lifted his wrist.
A watch on his wrist lit up, casting a light and shadow, and the image of a young man with a red feather mark on his forehead emerged.
The middle-aged man spoke respectfully and with a deep voice, "Lord Wes, disaster is about to descend, shall we forcefully take her away, or?"
"There's no rush. Let's wait until this song ends; the plan might proceed more smoothly," the young man's voice responded calmly.
"Yes."
The middle-aged man replied solemnly, the light and shadow vanished, and a group of people stood in front of the window, gazing down at the venue, silently waiting.
In the shadows, Xia Feng and Mu Qingtong exchanged glances.
"It seems like they really are here for you?"
