Song Jiao stood aside, watching the scene coldly. She nodded and said, "He is indeed sick! If he wasn't sick, I wouldn't be here."
Hearing Song Jiao's voice, Tang Mo looked up in shock.
She obviously understood what had happened, and her face turned pale instantly.
Her voice trembled a little as she spoke: "Song Jiao, I'm warning you! If you mess around, Brother Lu won't let you go!"
Song Jiao simply sneered and didn't respond to Tang Mo's question. She walked to the bedside and looked down at the once arrogant, now trembling woman. Her gaze was cold and deep, as if she could see through Tang Mo's inner fear and panic.
"Tell me, who will not let me go first? Or will I not let you go first?" Song Jiao's beautiful face revealed a bloodthirsty sneer, and her voice was full of threats and murderous intent. She slowly leaned over, close to Tang Mo's ear, and whispered softly: "Tell me, if he saw you being... would your brother Lu still like you?"
Tang Mo's body trembled violently, her eyes widening in fear as she stared at the dagger in Song Jiao's hand. The dagger flashed coldly under the light, as if it would pierce her body at any moment.
"You don't have to let this man accompany you." Song Jiao said, her eyes wandering over Tang Mo's face. "I think you have a pretty face. Can I draw it for you?"
As soon as she finished her words, she swung the dagger in her hand. A heavy blow cut across Tang Mo's cheek, instantly tearing the skin and flesh, and blood flowed down the wound.
"Ah - my face, my face!" Tang Mo let out a heart-wrenching scream. She covered the wound tightly with her hands, but blood still seeped out from between her fingers.
Her face was as pale as paper, and her eyes were filled with fear and despair.
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