Feng Qing, feeling sleepy and full of anger, thought, "I can't vent in front of this man, but can't I take my anger out on him when he's asleep?"
With that thought, Feng Qing glared at the man on the bed and huffed coldly.
"Ha, Rong Ling, you'd better pray not to fall into my hands. If one day you do, I'll make sure you can't sleep for three days—no, ten days. I won't even let you eat a single bite of food. Not only that, you won't be able to bathe, you'll be locked in a dark room, and I'll give you three needle pricks every day, making you wish you were dead and alive at the same time."
As Feng Qing finished speaking, she recalled that she couldn't sleep all because of this guy's mention of consummating the marriage, which irked her and made her kick him out, growing angrier as she thought about it, muttering.
"Do you think the things you presume are a gift to me? Hmph, who cares about your stuff? Get as far away from me as possible."
