Fang Bong deliberately turned his back on Lian, a malicious grin spreading as he addressed Ruì, his voice booming for the whole street to hear: "Look, Little Elder, you and I—we're lovers. Everyone knows it!"
He threw a venomous glance over his shoulder at Lian.
"Just like how you're the secret whore warming Clan Head Fang Yuan's bed! That's the only reason he made you his direct disci—"
THUD!
The sound was sickening, a wet crunch of fist meeting soft tissue below the ribs.
Fang Bo's vile words died in a gurgle as Fang Lian's strike drove the air from his lungs like a punctured bellows.
He crumpled to his knees, then face-first into the muddy street, retching bile.
Fang Lian stood over him, a statue carved from obsidian. Not a flicker of emotion crossed her face.
Slowly, deliberately, she spat beside his cheek.
When she spoke, her voice wasn't just cold, it carried the weight of a tomb sealing shut.
