When the commotion behind them died away, someone reluctantly looked back. Seeing that the monster was dead, he dropped straight onto the ground, panting madly and gulping down air.
Wu Yiran felt as if her chest was about to explode. She never wanted to go through that level of exertion a second time in her life.
More than ten seconds passed before she thought of the person who had brushed past her earlier and killed the monster—the one who looked so much like Zhao Cheng.
In appearance, he was practically identical to the Zhao Cheng she knew. Yet she simply could not connect the ordinary, forgettable boy from her class, a boy without the slightest redeeming feature, to the murderous fiend before her.
How could a weakling suddenly turn into an Ironblood warrior?!
Could Zhao Cheng have a twin brother?!
The thought sprang into her mind. She had never had the slightest interest in Zhao Cheng, so she knew nothing about his family. Her ideal other half was someone accomplished in both letters and arms, preferably dashing and handsome, sincere and romantic, and faithful in love.
Just as boys at this age could not stop dreaming about The Princess, most girls their age fantasized about a prince on a white horse.
As for the invisible underachiever in their class, all he had left was sincerity—and that was something she truly knew nothing about...
Sincerity, combined with many other things—handsomeness, cleverness, being billion-friendly...—was a guaranteed kill. On its own, though, it was guaranteed death.
Then she could not help wondering whether she was dreaming. But how could a dream possibly feel this real?
That bloody stench—given her nerve, if this really were a dream, she should have been scared awake in the very first instant...
Then she thought about how much