An Jing's eyes suddenly turned cold, a killing intent flaring in their depths. She whirled around with incredible speed, grabbing and squeezing Mrs. Xiao Chen's wrist that held the wooden stick.
"Ah—," Mrs. Xiao Chen cried out in agony, as if her wristbone had been crushed. Her fingers opened involuntarily, and the stick she was holding fell to the ground.
But An Jing didn't even glance at the stick. Her other hand shot out and seized Mrs. Xiao Chen's throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. Her voice, cold as a ghost, "Old hag, you dare to lay a hand on my man. You're looking for death, do you understand?"
"Mmm-mmm-mmm—," with her throat being choked and the pressure increasing, Mrs. Xiao Chen could hardly breathe. Her face turned a deep red from the struggle to survive, and she was unable to utter a single word.
