Ming Yao's lips quivered.
An unprecedented sense of danger washed over her entire being, cold and suffocating, like standing at the edge of an abyss she could not see the bottom of. For the first time in a long while, her instincts screamed—not of battle, not of strategy, but of pure survival.
Who… is this woman?
The question surfaced unbidden in her mind. Beads of cold sweat formed along her forehead, sliding down her temples despite her ironclad composure. Ming Yao knew this feeling all too well. It was the same instinct that warned her moments before death on countless battlefields.
If this woman wished it… I would be reduced to ashes in an instant.
And that terrifying realization wasn't even the most unsettling part.
What struck her harder—far harder—was the sight of Zi Han speaking to Wang Chen with ease. Warmly. Casually. Even smiling.
That smile pierced deeper than any blade.
A realization bloomed in her mind, unwelcome yet impossible to suppress.
A competitor.
