"So hot... it hurts..." Meng Yiran murmured unconsciously, her nails digging deep into her palms as blood dripped through her fingers.
She desperately tried to suppress the killing intent and desire within her, but they were like wild horses that had broken free of their reins—utterly impossible to control.
Everything before her eyes began to twist and distort. The frenzied cheers gradually faded away, leaving only the burning heat and emptiness inside her.
Just then, a familiar figure appeared at the entrance to the killing arena.
Ye Xuan wore a black robe, standing tall and straight as he calmly watched Meng Yiran within the arena.
He could clearly sense the killing intent on her body, poised on the verge of losing control.
A faint smile curved his lips.
Meng Yiran's breakdown had come earlier than he had expected.
The instant she saw Ye Xuan, some of the crimson faded from Meng Yiran's eyes, replaced by an almost instinctive dependence and longing.
She knew that only this man could ease her suffering at this moment.
"Holy Son..." she called softly, her voice hoarse and alluring, carrying an indescribable seduction.
Before Ye Xuan could react, Meng Yiran abruptly pulled the short blade from the ground and casually tossed it aside.
Her slender yet explosively powerful waist swayed as she ignored every gaze in the arena and dashed toward Ye Xuan like a seductive serpent woman.
Her movements carried an almost savage urgency. The curves of her body stood fully outlined beneath her fitted battle attire, while her bloodstained cheeks were flushed with an unusual crimson. Her gaze was hazy and blazing, like a poppy blooming in hell—dangerous and enticing.
"Whoosh!"
The cheers from the stands came to an abrupt stop. Every fallen one stared wide-eyed at the scene in disbelief.
None of