The elder in the red robe suddenly felt a round his body and pulled out a dirty bundle of cloth, stuffing it into the mouth of the noisy Meng Fuyao.
Meng Fuyao glared furiously at the cloth bundle—judging by its shape, color, and material, it looked very much like a sock!
A dirty sock!
At the very least, a dirty sock that hadn't been washed for seven days!
She, Meng Fuyao, her noble self, general of Wuji, King Meng of Da Han, Preceptor of Xuanyuan Nation, Empress Fuyao!
Had a, dirty sock, in her mouth!
Meng Fuyao was livid with anger, as she glanced sideways at Lord Yuan Bao, who had just been in her arms all the way being kidnapped, and was now squinting against the wind, struggling to climb out from her embrace.
Meng Fuyao signaled with her eyes for Lord Yuan Bao to rescue her from the nightmare of the vile sock, to which Lord Yuan Bao pretended to be terrified—no way, it could asphyxiate the noble Lord Yuan Bao!
