Peng Xiu cried out, the pain igniting a fire of panic within her. She fought against his hold, but he pressed her down, his voice a low growl. "Don't move, otherwise I will cut something else." The threat was palpable, and she lay there, trembling, every instinct screaming for her to comply.
Once satisfied with his work, Xiang Yu arose, the dagger glistening with her blood, his expression one of cold disgust as he surveyed the wreckage of her spirit. He turned to Han Xin, his tone almost casual. "What do you want to do with her?"
Han Xin's response was swift, devoid of sympathy. "Throw her in the trenches, and we'll take care of her later." His voice was steady, a chilling contrast to the chaos that had just transpired.
"Okay," Xiang Yu replied coolly, retrieving a handkerchief from Han Xin's pocket and wiping the dagger clean with an eerie calmness.
