Qiao Mo's delicate hand slowly picked up the dagger gleaming with a cold light, her throat lightly swallowed, seemingly a bit nervous.
He noticed her small movement, but didn't point it out, just felt a faint pain in his chest.
Suddenly, Qiao Mo gripped the dagger tightly, lifted her hand, and half-knelt on the bed, pressing the sharp dagger directly against his chest.
The several men in black around them tried to step forward, but Fifteen furrowed his brows and had them leave the ward.
Fu Nancheng's gaze gradually moved away from the dagger, returning to her face, stained with tears, and chuckling softly, "Hehe... want to kill me?"
His tone was very light, without fear, unrest, or fury...
As if he was talking about something insignificant.
Facing his eyes, Qiao Mo couldn't quite understand why she felt suffocated and inexplicably in pain… even causing the hand holding the dagger to start trembling.
