Inside the grass hut, on the wooden bed, Little Butterfly cried and struggled.
The one-eyed bandit laughed heartily, one hand gripping Little Butterfly's neck to restrain her, the other tearing at her clothes, revealing large patches of snowy white after just a few tugs.
Little Butterfly's heart felt dead. Just then, a shadow suddenly stood behind the bandit.
In front of the window frame, under the moonlight, that shadow appeared like a grim reaper, enveloped in a humid, bloody aura.
"Husband!" Little Butterfly saw this familiar figure, her eyes bursting with surprise and joy.
The one-eyed bandit was startled, and just as he turned his head, a flash of a blade swept past.
The bandit immediately raised his hand to clutch his neck, his body staggering back, blood seeping through his fingers, a hoarse sound escaping his throat: "You..."
He had just uttered one word when he collapsed softly to the ground, his body convulsing.
