A concentrated light seemed to gather around him, unconsciously drawing everyone's mind into a daze.
But there was only one person standing in the crowd, feeling like needles were stabbing her back, like ten thousand arrows were piercing her heart, like she was being roasted over a furnace and fried in a pan of oil—that was Yang Zi'er standing behind Nangong Yaoling.
She watched the man she loved deeply aiming a gaze at another woman—clearly furious, yet in that fury burned a blazing light of love. She listened to him scolding her, "cursing" her, but every curse felt like a knife, slicing her heart over and over.
It made her want to crawl into a hole in the ground, wishing she could just disappear.
Never in her life had she been this humble, this miserable.
And at this moment, feeling those strange looks thrown at her, one after another, tinted with amusement yet deliberately hiding ridicule.
Yang Zi'er's hands and feet were shaking.
