A strong wave of sorrow and cold hatred flowed in Nan Zhi's chest when she thought of the conversation she overheard between Nan Weiye and Ding Shuman's four years ago.
Her expression fell and became cold and emotionless, as though someone had flipped a switch. She stood up and took the invitation that Nan Yao had passed to her, tearing it into pieces before she threw the shreds of confetti-like paper at Nan Yao's face.
"Don't come and provoke me. I don't know what I will do otherwise." Nan Zhi's almond-shaped eyes were completely cold. "If you have the capability, fight with me fair and square and out in the open. Don't play such small and dirty tricks in front of me."
Nan Zhi looked down at Nan Yao in her high heels. The aura she was exuding from within her was cold, attractive and arrogant.
