Qinghe stretched out her hand gracefully, as if she was pointing out territories on a map. The person she pointed at trembled, looking at this cold-blooded demon who killed without batting an eye, feeling as though the air around them had thinned, barely able to catch their breath.
"You two, carry Mei Zhehao."
Taking a deep breath as if the world became beautiful again, they couldn't handle such extreme ups and downs. They hastily nodded, scrambling on hands and knees to Mei Zhehao's side. They lifted him gingerly—more cautiously than they had ever handled their own mothers—moving softly for fear of dropping him and provoking a swift slash of the she-devil's knife, which would end the lives they had barely reclaimed.
