Ming Mei struggled to control herself, not letting herself tremble, not letting her fear show.
She couldn't help but wonder whose blood it was... was it Zhao's?
Ming Mei's hands, her nails dug into her flesh, the pain made her body less stiff, she spoke out: "But I... don't look forward to meeting you at all, I think you'd be better off dead than alive!"
As her words fell, another cold breeze blew by, but colder than the wind was the body on the ground.
The soldier who had been standing at the door just a moment ago now lay there, his neck twisted at an eerie angle, his eyes wide open, pupils already dilated.
He died abruptly, his gun still not raised; it seemed that until the very last second before his death, he couldn't believe that he would be killed so easily by someone else.
He shrugged his shoulders, a regretful look on his face, saying: "How disappointing, I thought you would be happy to see me, after all, we could be considered old friends."
