"Lihua, I know you want me dead, but you couldn't bring yourself to kill me every time we met. If my death can make you feel better, then I'll die."
The man's tone was resolute and devoid of any room for change, and the sound of it hurt Ling Lihua's eardrums.
Shocked, she tried to withdraw her sword, but it was too late.
The sharp blade pierced Lu Hetian's skin easily, and bright red blood gushed out.
However, he did not seem to feel any pain and, without hesitation, his hand pushed the blade into his flesh once more.
Ling Lihua's pupils shrank, and she raised her palm abruptly and struck him on the chest.
"Enough. If you want to die, go and die somewhere else. Don't dirty the ground here."
Ling Lihua spat the words harshly, snatching the sword from him and throwing it onto the ground.
Lu Hetian was stunned. No matter how much his wound hurt, it could never match the agony in his heart.
This was how much Lihua loathed him.
