Meng Fuyao's palm blocked the sword's blade firmly.
Fresh blood dripped steadily from her hand, following the blade as it flowed onto the wound on Zhangsun Wuji's back. Their blood was mixed together as it fell onto the deep purple leaves covering the earth.
Meng Fuyao's expression remained unchanged as she wrapped her fingers around the tip of the sword, intending to snap the blade. However, the sword seemed to be made of an extremely slippery material and Meng Fuyao's hand slipped, resulting in another flesh-splitting wound.
She roared in anguish and lunged forward, wanting to hit the sword with her own shoulder and push the blade out of Zhangsun Wuji's back.
