Yang Qingqing's waist isn't a waist, it's a blade for cutting people down.
The tree she raises isn't just a tree—it's an arsenal of torture, an execution ground, the Path to the Underworld, Prince Du's Tomb…
"Left, right, left, back." Du Yu's head was flaming with Ghost Firefly's black blaze as he mumbled to himself, as if he'd gone mad.
Inside the living room blanketed with green leaves, he gripped his wooden bow, flashed the short dagger at the tip of the bow arm, and slashed viciously down.
The flexible vine twisted like a long snake, and Du Yu chopped it off with one swipe of the short dagger—but the end of the vine suddenly lifted, becoming a whip, and in a flash, lashed Du Yu right on the butt.
"Crack!" The Demon Breath Battle Robe shattered with a bang.
"Ah~" Du Yu let out a drawn-out cry, grabbing his butt with one hand as a searing pain shot through him.
This was day eighteen of his torment.
