"Little Ming, don't you think Bai Tianwu's display earlier might have been nothing more than a calculated act? A distraction to divert unnecessary attention to the Bai Clan?" Xue Mao's soft voice carried a trace of concern, his feline eyes narrowing.
Xiao Ming furrowed his brows. The thought had been haunting him ever since the ordeal, but he had deliberately pushed it aside.
"You might be onto something, Little Snow," Xiao Ming muttered, his voice low yet laced with malice. "I can't pinpoint anything concrete on him yet—he's too slippery—but there's no doubt he harbors ill intentions toward me and the Bai Clan."
Fortunately, both he and Xue Mao were masters of stealth and concealment. Their conversation was so hushed that even Zhao Yin, with his ever-twitching ears, failed to pick up a single word.
