Jin Boyuan, who had witnessed everything while wishing desperately that he hadn't, whispered to Chen Yue: "What have we witnessed? What is she?"
Chen Yue, her own face pale and strained, replied: "The end of everyone foolish enough to threaten what Zhou Yuxi loves. God help us all if we're ever on the wrong side of her affection."
In Mu Yunchen's room, Zhou Yuxi sat back down in the chair beside his bed. She picked up his hand again, her own hands still stained with blood despite the wipes, and resumed her vigil.
The man she loved lay unconscious, unaware of the blood that had been spilled for him, the lives taken in his name, the empire that had just been secured through violence and terror.
But his chest continued to rise and fall. His heart continued to beat. He continued to live.
And that was all that mattered.
Zhou Yuxi would carry the weight of fifteen murders. She would live with the blood on her hands, the screams in her memory, the knowledge of what she'd done.
