The moment the poisonous wine burned through my throat, I saw his face.
How ironic. I, Shen Yuan, the young master of the ancient martial arts family, the female general of Zhenbei who has not lost a single victory in the military for ten years, finally died in the hands of my own people. The poison was handed over by Shen Yan, and the wine was poured by Yun Zhao. They said this was "the best arrangement."
The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was him standing behind the screen. Zhenbei General Wei Qingxiao's hands, which had killed countless people, were tightly gripping the hilt of his sword, with veins popping out, but he did not draw the sword. He didn't save me.
Darkness swallows everything.
Then, someone was crying.
