For a moment, Xiaohu shuddered.
A terrifying killing intent radiated from Qingyi—thick and icy—as if an invisible blade had been pressed against the nape of his neck. The hairs there stood on end.
Even the air seemed to have grown heavier, pressing down on his chest with every breath.
Xiaohu blinked a few times, surprised and confused.
Why would something like this make Qingyi so angry?
For all her beauty, the Divine Maiden was ultimately just a member of a second-rate sect—one that didn't even have a Celestial Emperor to protect it.
Of course, her sect carried great religious and cultural weight, along with considerable influence in the orthodox world, but its actual power was mediocre.
It was a shame that she was being forced into a political marriage, but what did that have to do with Qingyi?
Could it be…
A thought crossed Xiaohu's mind, and his eyes flickered.
