Seeing a sword thrusting towards him, Chen Yang didn't have enough time to open the door. He kicked the car door, jumping out along with the flying door.
Shua.
Under the dim streetlight, the sharp sword, glowing with a cold light, pierced the windshield as if stabbing into tofu, unobstructed, and then plunged into the back of the driver's seat.
Chen Yang stood firm and looked up, only to see a young man in a black suit, holding a sharp sword, standing on the hood of the old Jetta.
The young man looked to be about eighteen or nineteen, handsome, with a proud cold smirk on his lips. He sheathed his sword and glanced at Chen Yang with a mocking look in his eyes.
This person was none other than Zhao Han.
"You have some skill."
Zhao Han said to Chen Yang with amusement in his tone.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than he thrust his long sword into the car, targeting Liu Zhiling, who was seated in the passenger seat.
