His body: fallen right in front of Mobei-Jun’s boots. His sword: still halfway in its sheath. His heart: not quite decided as to whether he should draw his sword. Mobei-Jun sneered, an ice-cold glint of blue flashing through his eyes. No sooner said than done, Shang Qinghua threw himself forward to cling to his thighs with a plop. Every one of his shixiong made an aggrieved face. Mobei-Jun made a blank one. Shang Qinghua fell to one knee. “My king, please let me follow you for the rest of my life!”
