Whether to kill this man or not—that was the question.
Looking at Jiang Lin, Leng Bingqing had truly never been this conflicted from childhood to adulthood.
This conflict had nothing to do with love. Her heart had long been as cold as a sword, and she had severed herself from the mortal world.
Rather, to Leng Bingqing, she had never encountered such a shameless scoundrel from childhood to adulthood.
If she killed the Jiang Yida before her, her junior sister would apparently be even sadder, because her junior sister seemed to still have feelings for him.
Moreover, if she wanted to kill him, she seemed to lack sufficient reason.
He had provoked her junior sister for her sake. Now that he had embraced her, he was still so deeply devoted, as though he had staked everything on it—not to mention that he had even sworn an oath.
Under ordinary circumstances, such behavior seemingly should not be condemned.
If she truly killed him, would she not feel somewhat guilty?
But if she did not kill him, what was she supposed to do?
Though she devoted herself entirely to the Dao, her mere body was nothing more than a sack of skin.
Yet no matter what, one's body, hair, and skin were gifts from one's parents. This man had already touched her. If she did not kill him, how could she preserve her chastity? How could she face her parents?
Leng Bingqing's heart was in turmoil.
The people around them also fell silent. Whether mortal or cultivator, they all waited for the answer of this exceptionally beautiful woman.
"One sword!"
After a long while, just when Jiang Lin thought he had smoothly gotten through it, Leng Bingqing suddenly spoke.
"Hm?"
Jiang Lin blinked in bewilderment.
"I will strike only once. If you