When I took it out, the words on it were a little blurry, but I could still make out some of them: You bunch of unkind and unjust people will not have a good end. My sister died because of you, and none of you will survive.
Ma Tuan frowned as he continued to read. The characters at the back were crooked and twisted, a world of difference from the neat and beautiful handwriting at the front. But even more surprising was that these characters seemed to carry an indescribable boldness, as if they were written by another person.
"Sister, the most important thing in life is that one thing. Don't dwell on the past. Your sister will fulfill her dream." Ma Tuan couldn't help but murmur to herself in confusion: "The tone of her voice doesn't sound like Fang Ruyue..."
Just then, a burst of hurried footsteps interrupted Ma Tuan's thoughts.
He looked up and saw Xiankelai running towards him. Perhaps in his haste, or perhaps because of the dangling silk that obscured his view, Xiankelai tripped over something beneath his feet. The sudden change caused him to lose his balance and pounce directly at Ma Tuan.
Before Ma Tuan could even wail in his heart, he was knocked to the ground by the cyclamen that rushed towards him.
This time the collision was quite significant; Xiankelai's knee somehow struck the back of Matuan's head. Matuan groaned inwardly, thinking how unlucky he was today, running into a friend of a friend—someone he didn't even know—and getting hit on the head, and yet another misfortune.
Ma Tuan shook his head helplessly and sighed, "This is how life is..." He rubbed the aching back of his head and tried to stand up from the ground.
At this time, Xiankelai also recovered from the shock of falling. The two looked at each other, and Xiankelai couldn't help but burst into laughter.
Ma Tuan felt that he could no longer laugh, he felt numb.
He moved slowly to the place where Cyclamen fell, took a knife and cut it, and sure enough, there was another note.
After laughing, Xiankelai felt a little embarrassed. He walked over to Ma Tuan, who exuded the breath of death, and handed him a wooden box as if to ask for credit.
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