An Yun watched Zhao Xuan with a pained expression, his gaze urgently turning to An Chong, who stood there with his head lowered, appearing to have no intention of intervening.
Jian Luo crouched down, catching Jian Qing's eye and understanding immediately. He reached out and grabbed Zhao Xuan's other hand, to make it easier for Jian Qing to act.
"Zhao Xuan, this hand of yours, I don't think there's a need to keep it," Jian Qing toyed with a fruit knife, her voice icy cold.
"No, don't..."
Zhao Xuan's face turned pale, and she looked at the blood-stained blade with terror in her eyes.
"Jian Qing, you can't do this, you can't be so cruel," An Yu pleaded, blocked by a bodyguard brought by Jian Qing, her face turning pale with fright as she watched the knife being toyed with at Jian Qing's fingertips.
"Heh!"
Jian Qing's lips curled into a slight smirk, letting out a cold chuckle.
Her hand moved and the knife fell—decisive and swift, without even batting an eyelash.
"Ahh—"
