But there was still one person alive, the one kneeling in front of An Mingji.
A man covered in blood, his whole body no longer resembling a human being, with blood pouring from his mouth.
In the brief openings and closings of his jaw, Gu Jin clearly saw a blur of mangled flesh inside his mouth.
His tongue had actually been cut out by someone.
An Mingji's hands were stained with a glaring, scarlet red. He was using a clean handkerchief, slowly and methodically wiping his hands, his movements elegant and aristocratic, so aesthetically pleasing it was hard to look away.
There was still a faint smile hanging on his face, but the look in his eyes made one's heart turn cold.
It was a bloodthirsty, brutal, vicious glint.
At that moment An Mingji felt utterly unfamiliar to Gu Jin; she wasn't afraid, though. Instead, for some unknown reason, a thin, dragging ache started up in her chest.
How had Little An become like this, what on earth had he gone through.
