This is an all-too-familiar sensation, her scalp tingling as she instinctively holds the person in her arms tightly, her body trembling uncontrollably.
The person stands in front of her, silhouetted against the light, face unclear, the familiar scent washing over her, yet it nauseates her to the point her stomach churns.
"Wei Zhao, you deserve a horrible death." Her eyes fixated on that figure, hatred overflowing from her gaze.
"Heh heh." The person let out a low laugh, the sound sinister and cold, sending shivers down the spine.
Yan Jin instinctively held the person in her arms more tightly.
Wei Xuan began to struggle uneasily in her embrace.
The person walked up to her, crouched down, fingers forcibly lifting her chin, compelling her to raise her head, that hand like an iron clamp, making her bones ache with pain, in the dim light, a pair of cold, deep eyes, it felt as if she was falling into Hell.
