Qian Yikun's memory took over him a little too intensely. He reached out and held Mo Fei's cold hands. He could not help but place it on his lips to warm her up.
At that moment, her pale face was unreadable. He had seen all kinds of faces that Mo Fei wore—not many people knew what she looked like.
In truth, her beauty was not enough to associate her with the epitome of beauty. At least, she did not possess the kind of stunning beauty that people would notice at first glance. Yet, you could find hints of such stunning beauty in the way she carried herself.
Qian Yikun asked in a low voice, "Why must you kill?"
He seemed to be mumbling to himself, but the woman on the bed suddenly opened her eyes. However, her gaze that was directed at the ceiling was unfocused; it was all over the place.
Mo Fei suddenly smiled. That smile was even colder and more desolate than the snow outside.
