For the greater good, he had to let go.
Yin Zhili retreated to the edge of the tent, his gaze fell to the ground. There, scattered about were hairpins and jewelry, and a large pool of fresh blood. It was here that Yin Zhiqing was stabbed in the heart by his own hand. He stared blankly at the blood on the ground, the madness in his eyes gradually fading away as if he finally understood what he had done, staggering two steps back.
Madam Yin had brought Yin Zhiqing's body back inside the tent, where it was too cold, fearing her daughter would freeze. Yin Zhili stood in the tent, yet he lacked the courage to step in even one step—he had killed his own sister. Regardless whether there was any blood relation between Yin Zhiqing and himself, it didn't matter. They had grown up together in the Yin Household, shared in each other's happiness, anger, sorrow, and joy... Now, he had killed her with his own hands, even though it was unintended.
