Chapter 197 Sacrifices (1/2)

The maniacal laughter seemed to be abruptly ripped from its throat, stopping abruptly.

The room was deathly silent.

Inside the stove, a piece of pine wood crackled and popped, the sparks that flew out becoming the only sound.

An Sanchuan slumped in the chair, his face covered in tears and snot. The sour smell of sweat, despair, and decay filled the warm room.

That burst of laughter drained the last bit of life from him.

He deflated completely, like a punctured clay figure, no longer able to support his skeletal frame.

Ruan Tang and Yan Yu exchanged a glance.

In her divine perception, An Sanchuan's emotions at this moment were not feigned; the intense, overwhelming despair and hatred were terrifyingly real.

This person's life force could be extinguished at any moment.

Her small hand, hidden in her sleeve, gently squeezed Yan Yu's fingers, conveying a sense of comfort.

Yan Yu understood.

But what he cared about was not whether the person lived or died.

In the apocalypse, amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood, he personally snapped the necks of superhumans from the land of Sakura.

An Sanchuan would never forget the cold, resentful, and filthy aura that the things he summoned on the mountain had.

"You are from Yan, so why do you use the magic of the Onmyoji from Japan?"

Yan Yu's voice was devoid of warmth, yet his questions were like icicles, piercing precisely to the core of the problem.

An Sanchuan lowered his head, his disheveled hair obscuring all his expressions, and remained silent.

Time passed.

The air in the room was so oppressive that it made one's chest feel tight. Even Little White, who was crouching on the kang (a heated brick bed), sensed something was wrong and shifted his position uneasily, burying his head even deeper.

An Sanchuan sealed himself inside a clam shell.

Ruan Tang saw Yan Yu's brows furrowing more and more tightly, and the cold aura emanating from him made the flames in the stove shrink back a little.

She knew that if she pushed him any further, this man, who was on his deathbed, would probably go insane first.

She nimbly jumped off the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), walked to An Sanchuan, and squatted down.

She tilted her fair and flawless face up, her voice as soft and sweet as a honey-coated cake, and changed the subject.

"You didn't grow up in Japan, did you?"

She paused, then her voice softened further, "Who exactly are you?"

This question, like a red-hot needle, unexpectedly pierced the numbness that enveloped An Sanchuan's entire body.

He suddenly looked up.

In those empty eyes, a turbulent wave of gloom, complexity, and pain surged forth as they stared intently at Ruan Tang.

The moment his gaze locked onto Ruan Tang.

Yan Yu made a move.

The temperature inside the room plummeted!

His tall figure leaned forward without warning, and his large, well-defined hand was already raised, aimed directly at An Sanchuan's throat.

No superpowers were used.

With sheer physical strength and the murderous aura honed through countless battles, he could easily tear this filthy creature who dared to look at his little girl with such eyes to shreds.

An Sanchuan felt his hair stand on end!

The shadow of death enveloped him with unprecedented terror.

He had no doubt that his head would explode like a rotten watermelon in the next second.

"ah!"

He let out a short, terrified scream, almost scared out of his wits, and looked away, his head drooping in fear, his whole body trembling uncontrollably.

Only when the murderous intent that had almost frozen his soul slowly subsided did An Sanchuan dare to breathe heavily, his lungs burning with pain.

He lowered his head, his hoarse voice squeezing out each word from his throat, carrying a heavy smell of blood and self-mockery.