Lu Ying sat by the window, the narrow-sleeved black robe accentuating his broad shoulders and slim waist, standing tall like an unsheathed black narrow sword, even the silhouette exuded sharpness. His high ponytail cascaded down his back, the slightly upturned ends outlining a wild curve.
He leisurely rubbed the Moyu Ring, his slanted eyes dark and burning like those of a malevolent ghost.
The malevolent ghost's gaze fixated on the woman on the bed, a smirk playing on his thin lips.
Shen Yinning's throat was dry and hoarse, as if scorched by fire.
Her eyes were red, her hand supporting her on the bed was pressing so hard it turned white. She didn't know how long she'd been holding on, but suddenly she grabbed a pillow from the bed and hurled it toward the window.
Lu Ying caught the sapphire silk pillow embroidered with gold thread and casually tossed it to the floor.
