The wind swept through the forest wilderness, intensifying the stench of decay settled in the damp soil.
The assassin leader chose to end his own life tonight, all for the sake of preserving his last shred of dignity.
A twisted, cold corpse lay sprawled on the ground. Ning Feiyan glanced briefly at it before calmly withdrawing her gaze. She gently touched the wound on her abdomen, a cold smile playing on her lips.
A weakness, is it?
So, in these foolish people's eyes, was she, Ning Feiyan, considered one of those burdened by emotions?
With slender fingers, she picked up a dried yellow leaf blown by the wind, crushed it into dust, and sighed lightly: "Sir Gu appeared quite timely."
Gu Changjing stood at a distance like a thousand-year-old ancient stele, motionless. He did not respond, and the quiet forest now echoed with the rustling of clothes brushing against leaves.
