The answer was clear: no.
After eyeing her tear-stained, flushed face for a moment, Xing Liehuo wrapped his left arm around her waist and pulled her into his embrace, his right hand gently wiping away her tears as he whispered.
"Close your eyes and think of nothing."
Silence, the woman did not reply.
After a little while, she wrapped her arms around his waist once more, tilting her tear-streaked, blush-tinged face upwards as she sobbed with a tone that was almost coquettishly aggrieved.
"Liehuo, have you ever killed someone?"
"Many." Startled by the question, Xing Liehuo's voice turned cold.
This coldness was sharp, a sudden chill.
But to Lian Qiao's ears, it was as if she'd found a soulmate in his response, and she asked eagerly, "Do you feel sad after killing someone, Liehuo?"
Stiffening, Xing Liehuo bowed his head and stared at her gravely, his deep, dark eyes exuding an oppression that made it hard to breathe.
