Ye Futian's voice was bright and clear. In the space of the Imperial Mausoleum, Glass Saint slowly opened her eyes. She sat up and looked at Ye Futian. In fact, she had woken up before, but she had closed off her senses, not letting herself think so that she could slowly recover from her injury.
However, there was nowhere she could go to hide from the feeling of those claws touching her skin. Even separated by a thin layer of clothing, it was still so clear. His hand had even moved to the most sacred, soft place on her body. What was even worse was that he had seemed to feel good about it, and he could not help but grasp it.
Such humiliation almost made her wake up to fight him, but when she remembered her vast sea of hatred for the Sacred King, she was able to bear it. She got up and bit her lip. She stared at Ye Futian with eyes as cold as ice, hoping that he would die at Xia Qingyuan's hands.
