Ying Rushi held Murong Hui in her arms, while Murong Hui kept spitting blood, her breathing resembling the sound of a broken bellow.
She wasn't dead yet. Relying on the Qi Blood of a Third-Turn Messenger, a mere fatal wound wasn't enough to claim her life. But if she were to face the rain of arrows from the Baibao Guards next, death would just be a matter of time.
Murong Hui adjusted her position, gently spat out a mouthful of blood, and rested on the incredibly soft and elastic body of Ying Rushi, like a little girl tired out from play who just wants to sleep, her face filled with peace and joy.
She was clearly a personality who feared pain, death, and trouble, yet when truly faced with the great terror between life and death, she was more at ease than most people, as if about to participate in an unknown game.
"What should we do next?" She asked, her eyes wide open, looking at Ying Rushi.
