Forty Frames

The Half-Demon seemed to have thought of that too. His hand trembled slightly where it gripped Qiao Ranran's sash.

Wen Ziheng, who had been watching the spectacle, finally spoke up. "He's just a Half-Demon who's lost his Bloodline, and you have the nerve to sell him? How much can he be worth? Name your price!"

Qiao Ranran pressed her lips together, pulled out a Storage Bag, and tossed it to the man. "Is this enough?"

The man hefted the Storage Bag, presumably checking it with his Divine Sense. A satisfied smile spread across his face. "Generous of you, miss. Money for goods. He's yours." With that, he turned and left.

He probably hadn't expected a worthless Half-Demon to fetch such a price just because he was good-looking. He was so pleased that he didn't waste another word.

Qiao Ranran felt stifled. She simply hadn't wanted to listen to Wen Ziheng ramble, but the moment she threw the Storage Bag, she regretted it—oh my god, she'd thrown away so many Spirit Stones!

Then she stared at the Half-Demon and muttered, "How are you supposed to pay me back now?" Given his miserable past and present circumstances, he probably had no money to repay her.

Pei Ling flicked a finger, sending a burst of force against the Half-Demon's wrist. It should have hurt enough to make anyone let go, but the Half-Demon only looked up. A flash of ferocity crossed his pale-gray eyes.

Pei Ling nearly laughed. Now that was how a member of the Demon Race ought to look. Half-Demon or not, even with the blood of the Demon Race stripped from him, what was in his bones could not be changed. All that sweet, adorable helplessness was a lie.

Did this Half-Demon mean to latch on to Qiao Ranran?

Qiao