Under the pitch-black night, Zhou Wushuang lay on the ground.
The powerhouse that Zhao Zuo had once been utterly powerless against had died so easily at the hands of Chen Xiaorong. The Suwen Sword was drawn from the fallen body, its blade unstained by blood. Zhou Wushuang's face was twisted into a mask of indescribable hatred and resentment.
"She is a member of the Zhou Family, after all. I need to take her remains." Zhou Qingning waved a hand, dispelling the ice wall before her. She took a few steps forward and looked Chen Xiaorong in the eye as she spoke.
"Fine."
"Leave this to me. The rest of you, return." Chen Xiaorong sheathed her Suwen Sword, walked over to Zhao Zuo, and addressed the members of the Night Patrol.
"As you command." Without another word, the members of the Night Patrol turned and left.
