Though Fu Ning possessed an unyielding temperament, faced with this situation, even he was finding it hard to hold out. He had clearly tempered his body into a nest of poisons, immune to heat and cold alike, untouched by winter frost or summer blaze. Yet cold sweat seeped from both his chest and back, showing just how turbulent and uneasy his heart was.
The main reason was that the spearhead had turned toward him too suddenly. He had not been prepared in the slightest.
More crucially, he could not think of any way to break the deadlock. No matter how he calculated it, his end this time would not be good. One could imagine the depths of his despair.
Yet despair was despair; when it came time to struggle, he did not hesitate. Eyes wide, teeth clenched, he glared furiously at Meng Zhao and Kang Youde and roared,
"This is slander, all of it is slander! I understand now—it was Meng Tao. Meng Tao, you deliberately set up this trap to frame me. This man is nothing but your pawn. You are vicious, utterly poisonous!"
His voice was shrill. Seeing that Meng Zhao did not believe in his innocence, he immediately turned around and dragged Meng Zhao into the mire.
Not only were those present left dizzy by Fu Ning's wildly imaginative leap—even Meng Zhao himself was stunned. How had he, the victim, suddenly become the great villain secretly plotting everything from behind the scenes?
However, when he saw Fu Ning's unsteady breathing and those despairing, deathly still eyes, he understood. This was the man's final struggle. If it worked, there was still a sliver of hope. If it failed, he would certainly die today.
Yet what disappointed Fu Ning was that this idea of his had been doomed from