Ling Chen frowned tightly, watching Nanrong Yong who remained unconscious, and a harsh glint flashed through his Mo Che-like eyes.
On Nanrong Yong's wrist, a cut had been made by someone, and blood gushed out from it, dripping onto the ground, almost entirely surrounding the rattan chair with fresh blood.
"Grandfather! Grandfather!"
Nanrong Wanqing cried out loudly for her grandfather, tears unstoppably streamed from her eyes, sliding down her cheeks to the ground, blending with the blood.
"Wanqing, calm down first."
Ling Chen gently patted Nanrong Wanqing's shoulder and then checked Nanrong Yong's injuries. Fortunately, they had discovered it in time. Had it been a few minutes later, even a deity would have difficulty saving Nanrong Yong's life.
