Xue Yijian had not spoken all this time, as though all his strength was focused on the spirit sword in his hand.
As if sensing his opponent's intent, Yan Hui took a long breath. "Since you don't want to endure it, then you may make your move."
As he spoke, he slowly withdrew his hand from beneath the thin blanket.
Xue Yijian sneered. "You're wounded. I can let you draw your sword first, then kill you."
His voice was cold, as cold as a winter wind.
Yet something burned in his eyes—jealousy, fury, fear, and a trace of unease that even he himself had not noticed.
Yan Hui shook his head. "If you see my sword, you'll die!"
The moment those words left his mouth, the air in the flower hall seemed to freeze.
Not because the words themselves were so frightening, but because of the tone of the man who said them.
This was not a threat, nor was it empty bravado. It was a statement—a factual, unquestionable statement.
As natural as saying, "The sky is blue, water flows, and if you see my sword, you'll die."
Shing!
Xue Yijian drew his sword in fury. Since this fellow before him had challenged him, that explained everything!
The sound of the sword leaving its sheath was crisp and sharp, like a scream, yet also like a roar of rage.
The black blade reflected a dark red gleam beneath the setting sun, like a venomous snake just awakened from hibernation.
And he would never allow anyone to steal a woman from him, even if the one before him was only a young girl!
As that thought exploded in his mind, a flash of blood-red passed through his eyes.
After ten years of watching over her, he had believed that Wen Yinger