Wen Renche paused for a moment, letting out a mocking laugh. The wound at the corner of his mouth stretched wider, fresh blood seeping out incessantly.
He slowly raised his head, his voice that had been as gentle as a breeze suddenly turning much darker: "The name on the invitation should be written by me."
Even with one standing and one crouching, even with the other looking down from above, the aura he carried lost not a fraction of its strength.
It was as if the two of them were standing on the same line, with no one being special in that fleeting moment.
Shi Wei arched his sharp brows, those ink-drenched, pitch-black peach blossom eyes entirely void of light.
He suppressed the urge to strike again, carrying the posture of someone above it all, as if Wen Renche was no more than air to him: "You don't stand a chance."
Another loud crash echoed as the door was slammed open.
