The man was wearing a deep purple silk pajama robe, with layers of ruffles and lace at the cuffs and collar.
He leaned against the wall, sitting on the ground, head lowered, his hair slightly disheveled.
His right hand still grasped a gun, and to his left was a massive painting that had fallen.
Centered around Long Yinxiao, the surrounding area was a mess, everything in the room had toppled over.
Lu Xiaoyou noticed that the room he was in had no windows, and the stark white lights on the ceiling cast an extra coldness over everything in the room.
The scent of blood originated from Long Yinxiao's hand holding the gun, where the rear force of the firearm had chafed the flesh, bleeding between his thumb and index finger.
She crouched down, and suddenly Long Yinxiao raised his head fiercely, the icy muzzle pressed directly to Lu Xiaoyou's forehead.
