"Xiaoyou."
After the sound of gunfire faded, Chu Huang's cold voice echoed in the banquet hall.
In front of her stood three rows of fully armed mercenaries.
The vast banquet hall had almost been emptied of people, leaving Lu Xiaoyou and Feng Zheyu standing conspicuously and incongruously.
"I don't want to order the killing of my own daughter. If you surrender, there's still hope for survival."
Any further rebellion from Lu Xiaoyou would be futile, only hastening her demise.
Chu Huang's gaze passed by the arms of the fully armed mercenaries, cold and emotionless, landing on Lu Xiaoyou not far away.
Beside Lu Xiaoyou, the round table had overturned, with dishes and wine glasses in disarray.
The wine and broth mixed, spreading outward. Yet in such a scene, the bloodstained Lu Xiaoyou still appeared noble and unworldly.
She seemed like a warrior from myth, holding a gun in one hand and a knife in the other, standing as if no one could take her down.
