She flicked her fingers and sent a bead from her palm into Hong Zhuang's bosom with a ding, calmly saying, "You birthed me, raised me, despised me, abandoned me. I remember this kindness and should be grateful without complaint, but this kindness..."
She emotionlessly drew the Spirit Sword from within her body. The barbs brutally sliced through sinews and bones, bringing out a sorrowful red of flesh and blood, "Consider it offset by this arrow's strike, shall we?"
It was a clear day, the river frosty, under a moon so white.
Everything in sight froze in that moment.
Baili An stood amidst this illusion, lifting his gaze to the soon-fading moon.
Moonlight reflected, and suddenly, the shadow beneath his feet began writhing.
A man wrapped in mist, holding a night-blooming cereus, emerged floatingly, his face unclear, a flicker of bright fire at his collar.
