Thinking of the Demon Lord's handsome face, broad chest, and that turbulent and intoxicating aura, her entire heart trembled, her cheeks growing increasingly flushed, almost to the point of dripping blood.
At the sight, Wen Chanyi's lips curved slightly upward. She, who had always appeared so fragile and pitiable, now revealed a faint smile, as if everything had already settled like dust.
Her body swaying gracefully, she slightly bent forward, revealing a beautifully curved and perky form, like a ripe peach.
There were also faint scars on her snow-white skin, scars that Fang Yang had inflicted in harsh punishment just moments before, strikingly painful to even look upon.
But at this moment, Wen Chanyi appeared rather pleased with herself, as if these scars were not a source of pain but rather a point of pride, a source of arrogance.
