Yao Qing didn't speak, coldly watching the distorted, fat face of Yu's Second Master.
She resembled a defeated queen, her desolate, trembling feathers giving off an air of shabby desperation.
Unfortunately, pity for the defeated queen served less purpose than pity for oneself; a queen's life force is much more robust than that of vulgar mortals.
After all, the unique beauty of a thistle eager to break through the soil is far greater than that of a delicate rose, pampered and watered with love.
Yao Qing, clutching the dagger, rose to her feet, the blade reflecting the light with a searing cold glint.
With an expressionless face, she raised her hand. Yu's Second Master had not even realized what was happening before the dagger was already plunged into his forearm.
Hot blood spurted out; he turned pale, subconsciously wanting to scream, but the sight of the two before him choked the scream in his throat, leaving only fear and pain.
Yu Gusi's eyes squinted enigmatically.
