Wei Yiwen extended his finger towards the distance, opened his mouth, and the paleness of his face, usually caused by mental exhaustion, suddenly showed a tinge of blush. The next moment, a thread of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his chest throbbed painfully.
Wanting to soothe this oppressive feeling in his chest, yet unable to do so.
His chest tightened, and he spat out a mouthful of blood.
This mouthful of blood seemed to have finally dispelled the breath Wei Yiwen had been desperately holding onto, and he fell backward, collapsing, causing a commotion around him.
Pang Shuiyun, playing chess, said: "A strategy to affect the heart; Wei Yiwen, known for his high self-esteem, was it intentional?"
Wen Qingyu said: "No."
Pang Shuiyun raised his brows: "Then what was it?"
Wen Qingyu said: "It was deliberate."
