The terrifying aura was brewing, and Xia Feng locked his sights on Long Lin's neck.
Amid all the fearful gazes, the sword was drawn.
Long Lin's entire body trembled slightly.
However, no one died.
The cold blade was only five centimeters away from Long Lin's flesh.
He turned his head to see a pair of snow-white little hands gently holding Xia Feng's wrist.
"Husband, the Qingxue Sword I gifted you is not worthy of killing such a vile person."
"Besides, today is our wedding day; it's not appropriate to take lives."
Beneath the red bridal veil, a clear and crisp female voice spoke up.
Upon hearing this voice, the murderous intent in Xia Feng's eyes instantly dissolved, replaced by a flood of tenderness.
He sheathed his sword again and then slowly turned his head.
The other nine Saintesses also walked over, surrounding Xia Feng from behind.
Although they did not speak, their message was the same.
Li Qingxue stepped forward; she was their collective voice.
