Wei Jin's eyes darkened.
The thin man bit his lip hard, enduring the severe pain: "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Quite resilient!" Su Luo's eyes flashed menacingly. She slowly twisted the unusually sharp dagger, creating a bloody, blurred hole in the thin man's palm: "Still not ready to talk? Or is there something or someone forcing your silence? You make a living with these hands, isn't losing them more dreadfully than losing your life? What to do, seeing an enemy in agony makes me particularly joyful."
The thin man's expression twisted in pain.
Not just the physical pain, but Su Luo's words that hit his worst fear.
He was an assassin. If his hands were destroyed, what would be the purpose of his existence?
