His words were like a demonic curse from the deepest abyss, erupting into a frantic, surging laughter that rolled out like a black tide. The sound resembled the cry of a night owl, yet far more shrill and piercing, striking the eardrums like millions of steel needles. In the gloomy woods, the laughter echoed wildly, each note carrying a sharp fluctuation of spiritual energy that acted like the scythe of a reaper, slicing into the soul and driving deep into the hearts of all who heard it. It was a trembling, apocalyptic judgment. Wherever the laughter passed, the air seemed stained with the pigments of the River Styx, warping and twisting in grotesque, chilling hues, as if the very atmosphere were whispering a prophecy of death.
Upon hearing the insults, the Young Maiden felt a flush of shame and resentment flood her cheeks. Her blush was like a sunset ignited by anger, made all the more harrowing by a mixture of humiliation and fear. She bit her lower lip so hard it nearly bled, leaving deep impressions of her teeth. Tears of humiliation glimmered in her eyes, swirling like stars trapped in a crystal cage. Within those tears, her spiritual energy seemed to struggle—a faint, flickering light like a firefly in a gale. Yet, in the face of such overwhelming terror, the light was too feeble; she could only swallow her anger and grievances like bitter medicine, suppressing them into the deepest recesses of her heart.
Liu Tong was like a powder keg being lit. His spiritual energy …
Chapter 65