1882, Murder Scene
His shirt was already removed from the upper body, tossed on the ground, stained with blood.
But the situation with the suit pants at the lower body wasn't any better.
The purplish-red bloodstains seemed almost dry, turning his dark trousers into a grayish-black color.
At this moment, Yu Lingqian's eyes were unfocused, standing stiffly in place, with blood still flowing from his arms and thighs.
The once luxurious presidential suite now resembled a terrifying murder scene.
Seeing this, even if Mu Anran wanted to doubt anything, there was no way.
"Husband!"
Struggling to recover from the shock, Mu Anran made her way toward Yu Lingqian regardless of everything.
What exactly happened in just the past half hour?
Why were Mu Xue and Yu Lingqian hurt like this?
Evidently, Mu Anran's call to her husband successfully pulled Yu Lingqian's sanity back.
