A few minutes later, the man said in a low voice, "Boss, there's really no money in her account."
"Damn it!"
Qiao Mo weakly smiled, "See, I told you I really have no money, I'm very poor."
A flash of ferocity passed through the man's eyes, and he raised his hand to slash again at her arm. In an instant, the white sleeve, which was originally fine, had two additional blood marks, the thin fabric tearing open, revealing the skin and flesh beneath.
Qiao Mo let out a muffled grunt, her face turning a few shades paler.
Listening to the blood from her body drip drop by drop onto the ground, her heart turned cold.
Although living was painful, she didn't want to die yet.
She didn't know if this was the instinct to survive or if there was something in this world still worth her attachment.
But she wasn't really as calm as she imagined, calm enough to face death peacefully.
