The Fallen One fell stiffly to the ground, devoid of breath.
The other two Fallen Ones' expressions changed drastically. Before they could react, two invisible blasts of force pierced their throats.
Ye Xuan stepped out of the shadows, his gait unhurried.
He bent down and helped Meng Yiran up. Seeing her covered in wounds, her hair disheveled yet her gaze still stubborn, a trace of appreciation rose in his eyes.
To be honest, he had never felt anything for Meng Yiran.
But now, she had gained a bit of appeal.
"Can you still walk?" he asked flatly, reaching out to lift her into his arms.
Meng Yiran leaned weakly against his chest. Feeling the warmth of his body, she closed her eyes wearily and whispered, "Thank you."
Ye Xuan said nothing and carried her away.
His back was straight and tall, and the killing intent radiating from him kept the Fallen Ones lurking nearby from making any rash moves.
Meanwhile, amid another ruin not far away, Tang San clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging deep into his palms as blood dripped through his fingers.
His face was white as paper, his eyes bloodshot. His chest heaved violently, and he could barely breathe.
He had watched Meng Yiran being surrounded and attacked by the Fallen Ones. He had watched her become covered in wounds and fall into despair. That helplessness and heartache gnawed at his heart like venomous snakes.
Yiran! Tang San roared inwardly, wishing he could rush out at once, tear those Fallen Ones to pieces, and shield Meng Yiran behind him.
But he did not dare.
He knew full well that he was no match for Ye Xuan. If he exposed himself, not only would he fail to save Meng Yiran, he would also doom himself beyond redemption.