Black, thorn-like markings appeared on Feng Bei's snowy-white skin. She made a grasping motion with her right hand, and an invisible yet ferocious blade of energy spiraled toward the massive arrow, slicing it into eighteen pieces in an instant.
"Darling, you..."
Feng Bei's long hair flowed in the wind, a hint of surprise in her eyes, before she finally pursed her lips in a smile. 'She hadn't expected that Zheng Xiu, who'd claimed he didn't want to change history, would still be unable to resist intervening in the end.'
"No..."
As Zheng Xiu fell through the air, he whipped his head around and exclaimed, "That arrow was headed for my tent!"
Whether by coincidence or not, Zheng Xiu's tent, Zheng Haoran's tent, and the Arrow's point of origin formed an almost perfect diagonal line. If not for Zheng Xiu's keen senses, which had him repeatedly tracing the trajectory of the projectile before Feng Bei dealt with the "sneak attack," he might never have noticed.
