A desolate silence fell over the vast arena.
It was quiet. Deathly quiet.
This important figure acted with lightning speed and decisiveness. He didn't waste words; when it was time to act, he struck.
Yu Zhen was still writhing on the ground, streaked with blood. He instinctively reached a hand toward Yu Xiang, silently pleading for help.
Pain! He could feel it with horrifying clarity—his tongue had been sliced nearly in half. Even if he survived, he would probably be a mute for the rest of his life, never able to speak again.
Amid his horror and despair, a deep-seated resentment toward Chen Yang festered within him. That damned bastard actually crippled me!
"Zhen'er!"
Yu Xiang scrambled over on her hands and knees, practically crawling to Yu Zhen's side and hugging him tightly. "My son, my son, are you alright?"
"Mmmph..." Yu Zhen tried to cry out in pain, but with his savaged tongue, he couldn't form a single word. Instead, a gush of fresh blood poured from his open mouth.
