A thunderous boom of the ballista echoed from behind. She pivoted her head, only to meet the angry eyes of Yan Xun. His hand hovered in front of his chest menacingly, like a glaring saber ready to draw blood, ready to swing down at any time to signal the firing of the arrows.
Chu Qiao was awash with fear. It overwhelmed her entire being, and her previous notions of pride, self-worth, and dignity were thrown out the window. She collapsed to the floor in a flurry of kowtows, and soon her forehead seeped red as her tender skin gave way to flesh and bone. Tears flowing and arms flapping, she pleaded aloud, "No! Please, Yan Xun, no…"
