Wanyan Liang's heart was filled with humiliation and vexation, yet he had no other recourse. Once, how proud and haughty he had been, feeling that looking across the realm, heroes who could compare to him were few and far between. Yet now he mournfully discovered that, after all, he was merely a pitiful wretch willing to sell his wife just to save his own skin.
"It's written!" Wanyan Liang held a blade to the necks of the two women with one hand while furiously scribbling with the other. The moment he tossed the written "deed of sale" across, his entire person seemed to age by twenty years.
Song Qingshu reached out with a beckoning motion, and the letter in midair seemed pulled by an invisible force, flying into his hand. Glancing roughly over the contents, he couldn't help laughing. "His Highness is truly talented in both civil and martial arts. In the past, Cao Zijian composed a poem in seven steps; today, the King of Hailing gifts his wife with a wave of his hand. No doubt a hundred or ten years from now, this will certainly be passed down as a fine romance."
Wanyan Liang only felt the blood surging wildly inside his body, the veins on his forehead throbbing. Feeling a sweetness rise in his throat, he finally couldn't hold it back and vomited a mouthful of blood.
Song Qingshu's gaze sharpened. He had deliberately humiliated the other man repeatedly, waiting precisely for this opportunity. Flicking his hand, Wanyan Liang felt his hand go numb, utterly unable to keep his grip on the weapon in his grasp, which dropped to the ground with a clatter.
Wanyan Liang was startled. Disregarding the burning pain in his chest, he hurriedly reached out to grab the two women, but unfortunately a