The air was thick with the smell of smoke, gasoline, and blood.
Mo Chen roared, a sound torn from the deepest part of his soul, as he shoved Ye Wan away from the car, his hands gripping her shoulders with terrifying, desperate strength. But it was too late. The cold steel had already done its work.
Qingxue, her body convulsing, felt the warmth drain out of her. The world tilted, reduced to the horrifying sight of Mo Chen's frantic face and the sharp, agonizing pain blooming from the wound.
"Rourou! Oh, God, no!" Mo Chen didn't look at Ye Wan; all his focus was on the woman collapsing in his arms. He cradled her against his chest, his shirt instantly soaking up the crimson flow. He pressed his hand against the wound, panic seizing his breath. "The hospital! We have to get you to the hospital! Just hold on, my love, please!"
