Her dark eyes, black and glossy as lacquer, remained as serene as a deep pool. The youth surnamed Fu stared for a while, listening to the mournful wails of Huang Zhong, his heart's volcanic fury slowly cooling within that pool of water.
Ning Xiaoxian felt the strength in his grip wane and caressed his hair with satisfaction: "Good boy. Go and give him a swift end."
From the perspective of mortals, Huang Zhong had bloodied hands and wickedness great enough to warrant nothing less than death.
The youth surnamed Fu nodded, ceased his torture, and with a swift reverse grip, pierced the heart of his enemy. He then pulled out the Dagger, knelt down, and raised it above his head: "Sister, how can I ever repay your great kindness?"
