As soon as Nalan Jiang breathed his last and Wu Ling confirmed that his heart had stopped, he staggered several steps away from the corpse, clutching the edge of a table. His stomach twisted and heaved, expelling the remnants of the dinner he'd shared with Zhang Buyan and the others. The room spun, blood thundered in his ears, and were it not for the support of the table, his weak knees would have sent him tumbling to the ground.
After several moments of careful breathing, the room steadied enough that he could let go of the table and retrieve the zither string from Little Boss Nalan's throat. Moving stiffly, like a puppet controlled by strings, Wu Ling packed away his calligraphy supplies and restrung the zither. According to the wisdom of his senior sisters, he should collect spirit crystals from everyone who lost their life in this… massacre. It would make it look more like a robbery and less like an assassination.
