Tang Huai had saved his life again; Ma Zhihao was no longer defiant, but he was also not as arrogant and domineering as before.
He pursed his lips tightly, not wanting to speak again.
When he had opened his mouth just now, blood had seeped into it, leaving a metallic taste.
Ma Zhihao raised his hand to wipe the blood from his face.
With that wipe, his entire face was covered in blood, like a bloodied man—it was terrifying to look at.
Ma Zhihao looked down at his blood-stained palms, his fingertips trembling.
Thinking back to the scene just now, his heart raced with fear.
He had nearly died.
It hadn't been his year; this was the second time he'd nearly been taken away by the King of Hell.
Although he hadn't seen clearly how Tang Huai had sped over to save him,
he was certain that she had pulled him away from his motorcycle with just one arm.
Like a heroine!
Ma Zhihao turned his head stiffly, his eyes still filled with unsettled fear as he looked at Tang Huai.
