Ji Ziling finally lifted her head and looked at Mu Qian, tears blurring her vision.
Mu Qian had no intention of softening his heart, his gaze still fixed on her face, cold as frost, "Ji Ziling, let me tell you, in my eyes, there's not a single part of you that compares to Wen Jiaren, not even a bit of a fingernail. Are you satisfied now?"
Ji Ziling's lips trembled severely; she couldn't say anything, her throat felt as if it were clogged with cotton, her complexion as pale as a dead person. Sitting on the ground, she began to sob woefully.
Mu Qian's whole body was in severe pain. He had no mind to attend to Ji Ziling. He grabbed the thin blanket and threw it over her, then turned and roared towards the doorway, "An Ying, get in here and take this woman away. I don't want to see her again."
