Two hundred years later, when she mentioned it, it was already with both first and last name.
Baili Yu, furious, laughed coldly: "At least I would rather face the pain brought by the cruel truth clearly, than sink bewilderedly and self-deceptively into a ridiculous dream woven by myself."
Ying Ji raised her head, her dark eyes fixed intently on him.
Baili Yu gripping her neck, his approaching face was grim and cold, with a trace of cruelty.
"Our son, he is already dead, wake up."
Ying Ji's dark eyes showed a hint of blood, like a crack suddenly appearing on a frost-covered ice surface.
On her cold, deathly face, a few traces of vitality finally emerged.
But that vitality was mostly on the brink of desperate collapse, as she stared hard into Sword Master Yu's cruel and emotionless eyes.
Her pressed lips finally trembled and let out two words: "Shut up..."
