"Yu Chiyin—"
Outside, the early winter wind blew past, and suddenly someone called his name from behind.
Yu Chiyin turned at the sound, spotted the comer, and also noticed the other's swinging fist. He stood still, neither dodging nor avoiding.
"Bang!" The man swung his fist and hit Yu Chiyin's left cheek hard.
The man's punch was strong; Chiyin staggered back two steps after the blow, turning his head to spit out a mouthful of fresh blood.
"Do you know why I'm looking for you? Are you not avoiding because you feel guilty?"
Yan Xingcan's clenched fist creaked with tension, his gaze upon Yu Chiyin as cold and bloodthirsty as a sword, hatred burning like fire.
Yu Chiyin raised a hand, rubbing away the blood at the corner of his mouth with his thumb, and slightly lifting his eyelids:
