He really couldn't face it—the mocking looks from people towards a loser, along with the endless cheers for the victor, Yang Fan.
He didn't want to, he really didn't want to appear in front of everyone like this.
With bloodshot eyes and a sweaty forehead, Lin Zetian's tightly clenched lips bled, and his quivering teeth couldn't stop trembling along with his shaky head.
Despair is a painful torment, but it's also a kind of relief; a person sentenced to death doesn't need to struggle anymore.
A minute passed, and the distance between him and Yang Fan grew larger and larger, Lin Zetian couldn't sit still; his desperate eyes stared at Yang Fan getting further and further away.
Another minute quietly slipped by...
Lin Zetian felt like he was in an endless abyss, falling deeper and deeper, unable to see a trace of light.
