Before the onlookers could react, a knife flashed, and a ghostly scream echoed throughout the ward.
Thankfully, the soundproofing of the hospital was effective, and since there were no other occupants on this floor, it didn't draw everyone from the hospital over.
Jian Qing was half-crouched, the blade in her hand still dripping with blood, while Zhao Xuan lay on the floor, gasping for air, her vision blurred by sweat, but still able to faintly discern those five severed fingers.
She wept silently, her other unharmed hand clenched into a fist, pounding the ground, her pathetic state nothing like her usual arrogant demeanor.
"Heh, Zhao Xuan, can you not bear even this?" Jian Qing grabbed her other hand, the sharp blade moving to her five fingers.
"Jian Qing, that's enough, please spare my mom, I beg you," An Yun pleaded as he looked at Zhao Xuan's blood-drenched hand.
