"Master Yan, why do you think I would be scared? Scared of you, or the gun in your hand?"
This question cast a layer of gray over Shang Yu's eyes, denser than the darkness of the night.
He leaned forward, his gaze unfathomably deep and chillingly deliberate, "The man before you killed someone at twelve and has countless lives on his hands. He's not a good person; being with him is like walking through hell, where one careless move can lead to a violent death. Li Qiao, are you truly not afraid?"
Shang Yu's voice was deep and slow, each word wrapped in untamed and murderous wildness.
Under the veil of rain, Li Qiao's vision was obscured by the rainwater.
By her ear, the man's words analytically dissected each sentence.
She closed her eyes to relieve the discomfort, and upon opening them once again, the determination in her gaze remained as steadfast as before.
Li Qiao said, "Master Yan, I never said I liked good people, nor did I ever say that I'm a good person."
