Using too much force and too suddenly, she knocked him down, toppling the chair with a tremendous crash.

The brocade-robed man outside laughed: “How bold indeed.”

He propped his chin, eyes flowing with amusement, thinking: You cursed me that my future sons would have no assholes? I’ll make sure you lose your chastity right now.

Inside the room, Jing Hengbo panted as she pressed down on him, asking: “Do I smell good?”

“Good…” He lay motionless, his breathing also slightly rapid.

“Am I beautiful?”

“Beautiful…”

“You measured my three measurements—are my measurements hot or not?”

“Hot…”

“Very good. Since I’m a fragrant, beautiful woman with hot measurements, I imagine you men would get aroused when encountering such a type, even without feelings, right? I permit you to get aroused, but I don’t permit you to think randomly,” she said proudly, chin raised like a queen. “Do you have feelings now? Saving people is urgent—hurry up and have feelings, then do what needs to be done.”

“No…”

Jing Hengbo made an “uh” sound, asking incredulously and angrily: “No? Feel? Ings?”

Was he kidding? Though she was very reluctant about this and didn’t care for men to lust after her, when such a situation actually occurred, she still felt quite humiliated!

Had her charm declined? Normally, wouldn’t one pounce settle everything?

“First, your tone is too resistant, which hurts me a bit. When a man’s psyche is hurt, it’s not easy to get in the mood…” he explained earnestly while lying beneath her. “Second, you… you’re pressing on me… I can’t even more… do that…”

“Ah?” Jing Hengbo jumped up like her rear was on fire… no wonder the sensation felt wrong earlier…

“That…” she wondered if she’d crushed something important. What about the measurements then? Would all their efforts be wasted?

“It’s fine…” his answer seemed somewhat strained as he slowly sat up.

Jing Hengbo glanced at him sideways, wondering if he was faking it. What exactly did this guy want to do? In such circumstances, he wouldn’t still want her to help seduce or sacrifice herself, would he?

No way. She’d rather pole dance in public than privately seduce some man in a dark room. The nature was different. The former could be called promoting art; the latter would be pure erotica.

“What should we do…” she asked.

“I have no solution either…” he seemed quite helpless.

Jing Hengbo felt that hearing such words from this person at this moment was truly helpless.

“Don’t even think about certain things,” she said firmly.

“After your pounce, I seem temporarily unable to think of anything,” he seemed deliberately trying to provoke her guilt.

“How about this,” Jing Hengbo sighed. “Let’s dance.”

“What?” His tone was genuinely surprised this time. “I can’t.”

Not just surprised but resistant. Jing Hengbo thought: Don’t want to dance, want to sleep instead?

“You don’t need to know how,” she reached out to hold him, not letting him escape. “A dance expert can lead someone who completely can’t dance to dance gracefully. You just need to follow me.”

“How can a man be completely dominated by a woman?” he protested.

Her patience exhausted, she nearly exploded with anger—clearly she was the one sacrificing, so how had it become her forcing him?

Anger reached her brows but transformed into a seductive smile. She curved her lips, fingertips lifting his chin: “Handsome, don’t be so stiff. Do you have the heart to refuse a beauty’s invitation?”

He looked down, staring intently at her, as if wanting to see some other meaning in her brilliant, large, seductive eyes. Finally, his lips also curved slightly as he reached out to loosely embrace her waist.

Jing Hengbo felt satisfied that her charm hadn’t diminished—without much effort, she’d made this guy surrender. She was also surprised that before she’d even taught him, this guy already knew to put his hand on her waist.

Her eyes were full of doubt. He smiled: “Instinct.”

Perhaps not instinct, but following his heart’s desire. Her waistline was so smooth, with the unique waist dimple of a beauty, always giving people the impulse to caress and embrace.

“Mm, that’s right. Use both hands to embrace, don’t use force…” Jing Hengbo raised both hands, placing them on his shoulders. She didn’t plan any complex dance steps—she had no mood for it now. Simply embracing and swaying slowly would do.

She did this based on past experience. At the research institute, when extremely bored, young researchers would also hold dance parties. She was naturally the queen of the dance floor with endless invitations. Back then, she’d even danced close dances. When lights hit the dance floor, it was naturally the most atmospheric time.

Later she stopped dancing, at most doing some disco. Because when those men danced with her in their arms, nine out of ten would react. After she entered puberty, this phenomenon became even more obvious. Even dancing the simplest three-step or four-step inevitably led to awkward encounters. She gradually learned that youthful energy, a young woman’s body, a maiden’s fragrance, and the visual and tactile impact of a proud figure were irresistible temptations to young men of the same age.

“Like this—I advance, you retreat; you advance, I retreat… slowly sway…” She discovered he was an excellent student with extremely high comprehension, not even needing instruction. His hand placement was very gentlemanly, his waist straight and graceful, his distance from her just right—not overly intimate yet not distant, showing measured closeness. The angle of his lowered face was perfect. When she looked up, she faced his profile—lines exquisite as sculpture. Distant light hit his nose tip, making the surrounding skin gleam with fine, golden texture.

Facing such a person, such movements, such atmosphere, all those interferences, crises, unease, and tension seemed to gradually fade. Her heart was like a beach after low tide, returning to calm, her gaze gradually developing a faint confusion… This moment’s feeling seemed both strange and familiar…

Her hands and body therefore became naturally softer. Her relaxed body was truly like soft silk, a piece of satin, gently and gracefully winding around him.

The two couldn’t really be called dancing—they weren’t strictly following dance steps, just this moment of rare mutual tranquility creating harmonious embrace. His hand naturally fell to her waist dimple, feeling the wonderful concavity he’d always wanted to feel. His heart also seemed to settle in that concavity, properly placed, needing neither increase nor decrease.

Her arms hung loosely around his neck, fingertips naturally drooping like orchid flowers. His height was also suitable for her—slightly looking up, further displaying feminine delicacy and weakness, yet not so different in height as to tire her.

Slowly swaying, slowly turning, her skirt spun small circles like an unbloomed flower. His steps were like walking on clouds, performing a casual yet immersive drift. Without deliberate rubbing or pressing close, this moment old matters were absent and time was beautiful.

Half the room in darkness, half in dim light, outlining the woman silently embraced. Her long hair fell on his hand while his lip-corner smile seemed ready to illuminate her brow. This was mutual complete self-forgetfulness—in shadows, in dance, between brows, in hearts.

In the darkness came vague, low whispers.

“…How are you…”

“…Mm…”

“How about that…”

“…Mm…” The tone seemed like sighing, like reluctance, indescribably unwilling to part.

“How exactly!”

“…Mm…” The tone was even more reluctant, almost helplessly resigned. “…About right…”

“Then do it yourself…”

…

Jing Hengbo released her hands, turned her back, even covering her ears. She feared hearing improper sounds, more afraid he’d shamelessly say: “My hands are weak—you measure.”

Actually, she already had an idea from being so close, grinding against each other. Her little radar had already given her the answer.

Fortunately, he wasn’t shameless to that degree, even retreating further from her. She thought perhaps he was more embarrassed than her.

Leaving that embrace, leaving the range of his faint fragrance, she suddenly felt a bit cold.

After a while, he touched her, handing over a paper. She dared not look, dared not turn around, hastily flinging the paper out.

Outside, the brocade-robed man was counting to two hundred ninety-six when he reached out to catch the paper, first smiling: “Finished at three hundred? This brother really can’t perform.”

The guards maintained proper expressions, determined not to show any inappropriate feelings—the master would pay special attention to such matters. Actually, there were historical reasons. It was all Miss Wen’s fault for being too vicious. Such a delicate little powder puff of a person had struck the master so hard that for a long time he felt he “couldn’t perform,” leaving psychological shadows…

The brocade-robed man unfolded the paper, actually only looking at the last measurement. He chuckled: “Not bad.” Flicking the paper: “Set the distance targeting the eyes based on this.”

The guards suppressed laughter and nodded. The brocade-robed man asked: “Which of you three wants to try my throwing knives?”

Without waiting for Pei Shu and Meng Potian to answer, Zirui said: “Me!”

The brocade-robed man nodded, ordering guards to bind Zirui securely, placing crystal fragments at her eyes, throat, heart, left and right wrist pulses, lower abdomen, and left and right leg arteries.

Then using silk threads, they measured distances according to the paper’s numbers, hanging markers from the ceiling beams.

For instance, setting height as the distance to reach Zirui’s heart—if height was eight chi, they’d place crystal on Zirui’s heart, measure out eight chi distance, and hang a copper coin from the beam.

While everyone was busy, Jing Hengbo and Mr. Mu emerged. Mr. Mu rushed out first, suddenly shouting low and shooting out a cold flash toward someone in the hall.

That person flipped backward, escaping through the window to avoid the lethal strike. Mr. Mu immediately pounced after him, out the window.

Jing Hengbo was a step slower. When she reacted and rushed out, she saw Mr. Mu had pounced outside but didn’t see who’d been forced out. She asked in surprise: “What happened? What’s going on?”

The brocade-robed man hadn’t moved, looking at her with a smile but no words.

…

Two figures, one chasing the other, left Ningxue Pavilion.

Running to an uninhabited area, the figure in front finally stopped, saying coldly: “Have you played enough?”

The figure behind also stopped, saying indifferently: “This isn’t playing.”

The front figure turned around. The two faced each other—identical silver masks, identical blue robes. At first glance, they looked like twins.

The front figure seemed quite displeased, saying coldly: “I didn’t expect you to be so cunning too. Knowing you’d soon be exposed, you simply attacked me to force me out.”

“You seem very angry,” the one who came out later seemed completely unaffected by his words.

“Shouldn’t I be angry?” The first to emerge, Yelu Qi, suddenly smiled again. “Then I’ll go to Di Ge and serve as State Preceptor. See how you feel about that.”

“Do it if you can,” the later one said coolly. “Covet what doesn’t belong to you—beware of playing with fire.”

“Aren’t you coveting what doesn’t belong to you too?” Yelu Qi smiled. “Even what you abandoned yourself, you won’t let go. Is there anyone so domineering in this world?”

The later one remained silent, seeming either speechless or simply disdaining explanation.

“Though you took without asking, I’ve been covering for you,” Yelu Qi smiled. “Shouldn’t you thank me first?”

“I need not thank you,” the later one’s gaze was cold. “Your covering wasn’t for my sake.” He looked toward the distance: “Say what you want to say.”

Yelu Qi smiled. He’d chosen not to speak from the beginning, so naturally had no reason to speak now. Regardless of how Jing Hengbo would react to speaking now, just this revelation would have unpredictable consequences. Perhaps Jing Hengbo would still choose not to forgive, perhaps she’d have a change of heart. The latter would mean pushing her back into his rival’s embrace, ending his own chances.

He didn’t have the magnanimity to fulfill his rival in love.

Both understood each other, knowing the reasons for each other’s actions. He no longer teased, only saying: “Just hope you don’t go too far.”

“This matter doesn’t harm you—otherwise how could you tolerate it?” he said softly. “As for before, she chose me because in her heart, my traces run deeper.”

“Scars are also traces,” Yelu Qi smiled meaningfully.

“Being able to leave scars is also because of caring,” he was unconcerned. “Caring leads to harm.”

“So confident,” Yelu Qi pointed at him. “Do you really think she’s heartless?”

“She has everything,” he answered. “Because I’ll give everything for her.”

Yelu Qi seemed shaken, saying after a long pause: “Why did it have to be this way back then?”

“I had no choice,” his tone showed no regret.

Yelu Qi fell silent, finally smiling bitterly: “What a strange person…”

But he changed the subject: “That Third Prince of Dong Tang needs a lesson.”

Yelu Qi immediately became interested: “How about we discuss it?”

Their murmured conversation gradually lowered, blown away by night wind.

…

Inside Ningxue Pavilion, the brocade-robed man stood before copper coins. Throwing knives had to pass through the coins’ square holes, traveling eight chi to shatter crystal fragments on Zirui’s chest without harming her.

The brocade-robed man said to Latin: “Report your estimated measurements.”

Latin looked carefully, quickly writing several numbers. Then he told the brocade-robed man: “That… the last measurement… can’t be determined…”

“Forget that one,” the brocade-robed man smiled mysteriously. “I was just having fun.”

Jing Hengbo objected: “No way! You’re cheating! How can measurements determined by your guard just looking be accurate? Wrong measurements could cost a life!”

“This guard of mine has a natural talent for eyeballing measurements,” the brocade-robed man said. “You can test it.”

Jing Hengbo didn’t believe it, measuring her index finger, middle finger, and foot. Latin reported them exactly right.

Helplessly, Jing Hengbo looked up to see Mr. Mu leaping back through the window: “Where did you go? Why did you suddenly run out? Did you see something wrong?”

“Someone mixed into the guard ranks just now,” Mr. Mu said. “Seemed like an enemy of my Shadow Pavilion. I recognized the figure and wanted to strike first, but he got away.”

Jing Hengbo raised her eyebrows, glancing at him: “People nowadays are getting more and more cunning.”

Mr. Mu smiled. The brocade-robed man impatiently tapped his thin willow-leaf knife: “Begin.”

“What if you can’t control the force or deliberately cheat?” Jing Hengbo felt nervous.

She trusted her measurements were fine but didn’t trust the brocade-robed man’s character.

“If this were in my country,” the brocade-robed man said indifferently, “you’d already be dead.”

“Who can’t act tough?” Jing Hengbo immediately replied. “If you didn’t have hostages, you’d already be a eunuch.”

The brocade-robed man sighed—where exactly did these women come from? Each sharp-tongued and clever, completely lacking feminine gentleness and virtue. The men from their place must be very unlucky.

“Pray your measurements are accurate,” he said. “If you reported eight chi but it’s actually eight chi and one cun, my dagger going one cun too far will cost exactly one life.”

He hefted the willow-leaf-thin dagger, walking to those copper coins. Just as he was about to act, he suddenly said: “Oh, I forgot something.”

Then he turned to take a black cloth from the table, saying apologetically to Jing Hengbo: “Earlier I blindfolded you, so now I should blindfold myself too. That’s only fair.”

Jing Hengbo silently swallowed blood, deciding to argue with him or beat him up after rescuing the hostages, or this guy would retaliate at any moment.

The brocade-robed man raised his hand. Willow-leaf knives from Zhongwen’s offered box flew up in unison—clearly also a multi-directional telekinetic rhythm.

Zirui trembled slightly. With fate hanging by a thread, she couldn’t help being nervous, but gritted her teeth not daring to move randomly, fearing movement would affect the crystal fragments’ positions and bring disaster.

The brocade-robed man struck.

His fingers flicked rapidly like plucking strings.

Whoosh—a flash of lightning, “crack”—crystal shattered. The willow-leaf knife stuck in the crystal fragment, with Zirui’s stimulated, trembling eyeball just below.

Zirui cried “ah,” breaking into cold sweat.

Jing Hengbo clenched her fingers.

The brocade-robed man’s fingers lightly flicked like chasing feathers. “Whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh”—continuous sounds, flying light like white electricity, crisscrossing. Suspended copper plates rang ding-ding in the strong wind, accompanied by continuous crystal-shattering cracks and Zirui’s uncontrollable low exclamations.

Light flew through the room, air currents rose and fell. The brocade-robed man’s black hair slightly scattered, brows flying to temples. Copper plate and crystal collision sounds were crisp as breaking ice, beautiful in both sound and sight.

If not for nervous worry about Zirui’s situation, Jing Hengbo would think this scene was like a painting.

But she had no mind for appreciation—this was the perfect opportunity.

The brocade-robed man was blindfolded, completely focused on displaying his skills. Someone so proud would never deliberately cheat and fail, even striving for perfection. When no problems occurred, he’d pursue the most beautiful sound and light effects.

Only now was he unable to control the overall situation.

Jing Hengbo and Mr. Mu exchanged glances.

Both stared intently at the brocade-robed man’s throwing knives. The last knife whooshed through the final copper plate, shattering crystal on Zirui’s thigh artery.

In that moment of falling fragments.

The brocade-robed man was about to smile and remove his blindfold.

Jing Hengbo suddenly waved her hand.

Eight willow-leaf knives flashed cold light as they flew up separately, heading for the room’s guards.

Zhongwen, Deutsche, and others were very alert, immediately raising their blades.

But those light knives didn’t attack their bodies—they circled around their clothing, whooshing several times. Crack-crack sounds, clothing fragments fell to the floor.

The guards’ faces changed. Looking down at themselves—some missing half a sleeve, others half a robe, hair also half gone. Everyone’s originally neat clothing was half destroyed.

The guards’ faces now looked deathly pale, worse than if half their bodies had been cut off.

At this time, the brocade-robed man also heard the commotion, ripping off his blindfold. Seeing the guards, his face changed dramatically for the first time, roaring: “Get out!”

Without him saying so, the guards quickly fled. Jing Hengbo waved both hands repeatedly, wanting to seize the three hostages during this opportunity, but only heard rustling sounds as those three were still dragged into the inner room by guards—somehow, chains had already connected the hostages to the guards.

Jing Hengbo snorted angrily, turning to glare at the brocade-robed man. His face was pale, apparently not yet recovered from the tremendous discomfort.

He couldn’t accept any asymmetry. Seeing extreme asymmetry was more painful than being stabbed.

Having dismissed the guards himself, he now faced Jing Hengbo and Mr. Mu alone.

Jing Hengbo laughed sharply, raising her hand to cut off half her skirt.

“Damn it!” the brocade-robed man uttered a low angry growl.

Jing Hengbo laughed heartily: “Obsessive-compulsive disorder!”

Mr. Mu slapped away the dustpan on the floor. Chestnut shells flew up, crackling against the wall—naturally, half the wall.

Originally there were calligraphy and paintings on the wall, but since the brocade-robed man arrived, all had been removed to pad feet. He couldn’t tolerate anything on walls.

Now half the wall was snow-white, half covered densely with brown chestnut shells.

The brocade-robed man felt all his body hair ready to stand up. Not bothering with Jing Hengbo and Mr. Mu first, he struck with a palm. With a rumbling crash, the half-wall with chestnuts collapsed.

Jing Hengbo’s eyes lit up, shouting: “Also has trypophobia! Need honeycombs!”

Where could they find honeycombs? Mr. Mu laughed loudly: “Here’s a big one!” Raising his hand, he flipped the entire table. Jing Hengbo directed flying knives, crack-crack-crack, randomly poking countless holes in it.

Dense and asymmetrical. The brocade-robed man had to close his eyes, striking out with a palm. While he struck blind, Mr. Mu slapped toward his shoulder.

But the brocade-robed man seemed able to see even with closed eyes, dangerously flipping up. Rip—Mr. Mu’s iron palm tore clothing from his shoulder, leaving a bloody red scratch.

Crack—the table shattered. Two figures touched and separated, each flipping to land. Mr. Mu sat on the windowsill smiling. The brocade-robed man reached out, touching his shoulder, licking his blood-stained fingers, saying longingly: “So this is how my blood tastes…”

Jing Hengbo was about to curse his show-off attitude when she heard him say: “It’s sweeter than others’. Next time I’ll let her taste it too…”

Jing Hengbo’s hair stood on end, feeling that calling him a pervert wasn’t strong enough. Seeing he refused to look at her, she laughed sharply: “I’m going to rescue the hostages!” turning to rush toward the inner room.

The brocade-robed man naturally had to follow with his gaze. Jing Hengbo pointed at the damaged wall, shouting: “Hey, this wall broke asymmetrically!”

The brocade-robed man immediately looked away. Jing Hengbo kicked the smashed table over: “Hey, this table is also asymmetrical!”

She jumped around, smashing all furniture in the room—breaking one leg, splitting half a surface, removing one top—all smashed before the brocade-robed man: “Hey, asymmetrical asymmetrical asymmetrical!”

The brocade-robed man could only keep retreating, trying not to look at those uncomfortable things while constantly striking out, destroying them.

But he wasn’t only facing Jing Hengbo—there was also Mr. Mu by the window.

“Bang”—his back hit the wall. He could retreat no further.

Now Mr. Mu flashed, appearing again. This time striking toward his hip bone.

In front of the brocade-robed man was a pile of furniture with Jing Hengbo behind it. He couldn’t look at the furniture, Jing Hengbo, or Mr. Mu, because Mr. Mu had also cut off half a sleeve.

He could only look at the sky.

Amazingly, looking at the sky, he could still sense killing intent. “Whoosh”—just as Mr. Mu’s palm was about to reach his hip bone, he slid up along the wall. Mr. Mu only managed to grab a piece of his clothing, leaving another scratch on his hip bone.

This backward slide caused his outer robe and pants to be torn off in a long strip by Mr. Mu.

The brocade-robed man’s expression wasn’t pleasant but he still smiled: “Why are you grabbing my pants? Are you perhaps a rabbit?”

Mr. Mu smiled: “I just suspect you’re a eunuch.”

The brocade-robed man said indifferently: “You’re quite clever, attacking me this way. But I don’t think I showed this habit before you. Who told you?”

Jing Hengbo glanced at Mr. Mu. Mr. Mu naturally wouldn’t admit this was just overheard, only smiling: “Know yourself and your enemy to win every battle.”

“Won? Still early,” the brocade-robed man said lazily. “The room’s destroyed, all furniture destroyed. Tell me, what else is asymmetrical?”

Jing Hengbo was considering whether to shave off half her hair to drive him crazy when she suddenly heard Mr. Mu shout: “There’s still yourself!”

With his words came a rumbling crash as a large mirror fell from the roof.

The mirror was as big as a screen—the largest full-length bronze mirror in Dahuang’s palace, specially used for kings to arrange their appearance before court.

The bronze mirror landed precisely before the brocade-robed man. Looking up, he saw himself with a hole in the left shoulder and missing cloth on the right hip.

Asymmetrical!

“Hahaha Old Mu, you’re amazing! You actually prepared a mirror here!” Jing Hengbo laughed. “Quick, destroy all asymmetrical objects!”

The brocade-robed man’s expression seemed ready to vomit blood. He raised his hand. Jing Hengbo thought he’d smash the mirror, gleefully thinking bronze mirrors couldn’t be broken—deformation would look even more uncomfortable. But she saw him rip off a piece of robe and bind his eyes.

“See what asymmetrical things you can make for me now,” he said.

“With your eyes bound, you still think you can beat us?” Jing Hengbo shouted, thinking this guy was truly detestable.

“Then let’s die together,” the brocade-robed man said indifferently. “If I die, they’ll definitely kill the hostages then commit suicide. Everyone dies. Quite good.”

A true pervert who didn’t care about his own life but was determined to play to the end!

“Then we’ll just have to fight you!” Jing Hengbo rolled up her sleeves and pounced. Mr. Mu didn’t act—he disdained group attacks, and also wanted to let Jing Hengbo vent.

Figures flashed repeatedly, explosions continuous, accompanied by rumbling sounds of constantly collapsing objects. Half of Ningxue Pavilion gradually became ruins. The collapses were mostly caused by the brocade-robed man. Unable to see, he gained liberation, able to manipulate those asymmetrical objects to constantly attack Jing Hengbo. Only his accuracy was somewhat affected, and being injured, his movements were slower.

Jing Hengbo could no longer use asymmetry and trypophobia to attack him, but she had unmatched teleportation and telekinesis for self-protection. The brocade-robed man moved like a dragon, stirring up rolling dust clouds, while she bounced around like jumping beans, occasionally appearing behind him. During conflict and evasion, she managed to burn off half the brocade-robed man’s hair with kitchen coals, mess up his hair bun with a pig leg, wet his shoe soles with manure from the latrine, and use a fishing net from the lake to tear off cloth from his rear…

They fought through ruins to the kitchen, finally reaching the lake surface. Jing Hengbo controlled a ball of fire chasing the brocade-robed man. She didn’t want to kill him, fearing his guards would truly eliminate the hostages, only wanting to force him to flee so she could concentrate on those guards.

The brocade-robed man’s sleeves fluttered as he flew across the lake. Ningxue Pavilion’s lake was very wide, already frozen, flat and mirror-bright, but couldn’t support a person’s weight. Jing Hengbo dared not teleport onto it. Mr. Mu flashed, already pursuing.

The brocade-robed man was in mid-air, reaching toward the shore, but this movement wasn’t completed when he suddenly felt coolness above his head, as if an ice blade passed over. Then his blindfold fell down. He was now looking down at the lake surface, seeing his own reflection in the ice.

Hair disheveled, hair long and short, clothes in disarray, dragging one piece on the left, hanging one on the right, another piece on his rear nearly exposing flesh…

Aaah, what kind of ghost was this!

His vision went black, his breath leaked out.

Bang—he fell down.

With his martial arts, falling into an icy lake wasn’t much. Just as he was about to struggle up, he heard extremely subtle low sounds. Ice around him rapidly froze and thickened at a speed the naked eye couldn’t follow. In a blink, they sealed the hole he’d broken, firmly freezing his lower body in ice. He even felt ice layers rapidly freezing downward, feeling the frozen area starting from his important parts…

He immediately understood—someone was taking revenge!

This person made a move that was group abuse and crushing. He’d never suffered such a great loss in his life, feeling certain important parts almost freezing off…

At this time, Mr. Mu also arrived, already holding a sword, preparing to place it at his neck. Hostage for hostage.

Without asking, the guards would obediently exchange.

The brocade-robed man seemed unable to escape.