Nie Zheng.
He too wore dark robes, his tall figure silent, moving straight ahead like a black streak of lightning. At his waist, no scabbard — only the ominous gleam of the sword caught in the eye's reflection.
Chen Yi said nothing either,
The two brushed past each other...
A streak of blood erupted into the sky, a savage gash tore through Chen Yi from his left shoulder to his right side. Blood and flesh splattered, pain digging into his core.
Nie Zheng, however, felt no pain at all.
Scorching fresh blood gushed forth, a raw cleft split open his chest, connecting his heart and ribs.
Chen Yi sealed his bleeding with a precise acupuncture point.
The famed chivalrous hero of past and present lay felled by his hand—a rush of indescribable pleasure surged forth. Chen Yi exhaled a deep, heavy breath, confused by the inexplicable satisfaction that coursed through him.
This wasn't how it should feel...
