Zhao Yan barely registered Hua Jing's cry before he turned, only to see the leader towering over him.
The man's eyes gleamed with unrestrained malice, his blade raised high in triumph.
In a split second, Zhao Yan felt the sharp, searing pain of metal slicing into his arm.
He staggered backward as the warmth of his blood trickled down, soaking his robes and staining the pristine snow.
The crimson dots spread, turning the pure white into something morbidly beautiful.
Hua Jing froze for a moment, her heart lurching as her gaze fell on Zhao Yan's wounded arm.
Her hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, and her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
Her entire body radiated fury, an anger so palpable it seemed to ripple through the air.
"Zhao Yan!" she screamed, her voice carrying a raw edge.
She tried to rush toward him, but three men stepped into her path, blocking her way.
One smirked, taunting her with a low chuckle.
