Li Zhufeng! Along the way, I have abandoned my parents and brothers for you, and you will still doubt me? Do you doubt that I am interested in that cold royal chair? He Chennian looked at the man with a sharp face and cold eyes in front of him with angry eyes.
Facing the trembling He Chennian, Li Zhufeng's pursed lips seemed to loosen a little, but he remained silent.
He Chennian suddenly pulled out the sword from his waist and chopped off his slender right hand, causing blood to splash in the hall.
Li Zhufeng looked at He Chen's bloody hands and red-stained white robe, and a tear fell from the corner of his sculptured eyes. He looked at He Chen's staggering back and wanted to shout "Chen Nian", but it felt like it was stuck in his throat and he couldn't make any sound.
He Chen's silver sword lay quietly in a pool of blood. On the hilt was a poem written by Li Zhufeng. Flowers grind into dust, but you remain the same.