Watching the Blood Clan pour in endlessly, the man felt his pressure mounting with each passing moment. Fine beads of sweat slowly gathered on his forehead, and his breathing grew increasingly ragged.
Wang Zhaojun, however, displayed a different kind of composure. She gently lifted a strand of hair from her chest and tossed it backward. At the same time, her fingers quietly drifted to the Jade Flute hanging at her waist.
In her hands, the Jade Flute seemed to come alive, rapidly expanding in size. Her fingers danced nimbly across the flute holes, producing a sound that was at once mournful and rustling, like a suppressed sob.
Chapter 127