Feng Jingfan continued crawling, her actions becoming slower and slower until finally, she was no longer able to move as she hung there in the air.
She hadn't been able to die a comfortable and eternal death lying down—too many knives were stuck in her, propping her body 30 degrees in an exhausting posture.
Her hand continued to remain raised, forever reaching out.
The fake lotus saint who had spent her whole life learning to be elegant and righteous had died in the ugliest manner possible.
The entire palace floor was filled with blood, seeping from the countless knife wounds, flowing and forming an illegible drawing.
