He Yi clutched his stomach with his left hand, blood pouring endlessly from the wound. His face was a ghastly, bloodless white. But the ones propping him up were not Yang Siyue, the woman he had been protecting all this time—instead, they were two of Feng Shen's men.
And Yang Siyue—that elegant and sweet-looking girl—now stood opposite He Yi. She watched the gravely injured man with a look of cold mockery. Behind her, a group of experts armed with long blades stared at He Yi like tigers eyeing their prey.
"Why? I need to know why."
With the help of the men beside him, He Yi struggled to stand straight. His eyes were deeply bloodshot as he demanded an answer, his voice raw. The grief and confusion in his gaze were so intense that even the bloodshot redness couldn't conceal them.
