Hearing this, the person behind pursed their lips, "I hope that's really the case."
With a cold snort, the person stood up from the ground and walked toward the door.
Opening the door, the soft light from the hallway streamed in, illuminating her scarred and twisted face.
She raised her hand to touch the scars on her face and gritted her teeth.
An Ziqi, one day I will make you kill your son and daughter with your own hands. I will watch you lose everything and see you collapse.
The pain I have endured, I want to watch it be returned to you a hundred times over, and personally push you into the eighteen levels of hell.
Once her footsteps gradually faded away, the person at the table stood up.
In the light at the door, wearing traditional clothing of a minority from Country Z, a familiar face gradually emerged in the subtle light.
Her lips curved slightly upward, revealing a faint smile.
On the other side, An Ziqi was sleepless all night.
