Meng Yuan's cold fingers stroked her cheek, and she felt a little awake.
"Meng Yuan, hurry up." Zhao Ling was about to cry. Could he stop looking at her with such gentle eyes, could he stay away from him when she was not completely out of control? She was afraid that she would not be able to bear it, so she threw him down desperately.
Meng Yuan saw bloodstains on her raised left arm, his face turned cold in an instant, and his anger was mixed with deep distress.
Yin Zhan, this king will surely make you regret it.
He lowered his head and leaned closer, kissing the bloodstains gently. The gentle and moist touch made Zhao Ling tremble uncontrollably.
"Meng Yuan, don't."
But to Meng Yuan's hearing, this rejection was so powerless, it seemed like a kind of refusal and welcome. His eyes darkened, he left her arm, and turned to place a light kiss on her forehead.
