"Why didn't that little wench say she had this trick up her sleeve?" the malicious youth's pupils shrank abruptly, his face revealing a look of resentment as he leaned to one side, swiftly avoiding the incoming silver needles.
The crowd scrambled to dodge, each darting to the sides; still, two people were hit and immediately screamed out loud.
"Everyone, be on your guard, put away those thoughts, first subdue this brat before anything else," roared the man leading the group, jolting everyone into heightened alertness.
Caught off guard, the silver needles weren't coated with any substance; one of the men who was pricked sprang up from the ground and, with a fierce look on his face, bore down on Zhiyan. The other kept rolling around, drenched in cold sweat from the pain.
Zhiyan, furious in her heart, hated that she couldn't tear these people to shreds right then and there; she discarded the silver needles, and suddenly, a small porcelain bottle appeared in her hand.
