A Yu clung to him so tightly that no matter what Zhuang Mingting did, he could not pry her loose. He did not dare use too much force either.
His vision slowly began to blur. He did not like this feeling, but it was no longer unfamiliar.
Rong Xi directly cut Fu Rong off. She had just poked her head out from Ye Shuli's embrace when someone immediately pressed her back down.
Da Niu looked utterly aggrieved. He had already felt wronged, and seeing Shui Yiren leave only her back to him made him feel even more stifled. When Shui Yiren turned around, he called out to her timidly.
His brows and eyes were like an ink painting on a master's paper, his handsome features vividly defined. Like a splash-ink painting, every detail was exquisite.
She watched Yin Xueyuan see the breathless corpse, and not a trace of a smile remained on his face. Clearly a youth, yet he made chills rise in others.
"Senior Bai Lin?" Mo Fengye turned back in surprise and met Bai Lin's indifferent face. The others also looked at Bai Lin with some surprise.
Not to mention how uncomfortable Chu Tiankuo, the person involved, felt—Chi Le, as a bystander, felt rather awkward as well. He could not help coughing a few times. It sounded as though his throat was itchy. In truth, he had deliberately made those sounds.
Looking at such a tall person tightly wrapped in white silk, Long Jiuer showed not the slightest fear on her face.
Those eyes, sunken from hardship, were hollow and lifeless, as though they had lost all hope in life. Like stagnant water, they could not withstand the slightest ripple.
Even in the face of such intensely obsessive hatred, the man's expression did not change in the slightest.