Han Yanyan had been hiding her strength since the beginning of this world. If she could create a physical condition for Duke Klin that appeared four or five years advanced at the age of two, how could she possibly neglect herself?
This man was nothing in her eyes. Yet, she deliberately feigned weakness, making noises to draw Ding Yao’s attention. Her real intention was to instill thoughts in Ding Yao that “this world is dangerous” and “you’re too young to rely on me.” She planned to put on a dramatic show—a thrilling fight in front of the helpless Xiaoyao, inflict some injuries on herself, and then kill this man.
The script had been laid out quite well, but who would have thought Ding Laoda would go off-script?
Han Yanyan pushed the man's body aside and sat up, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of blood across half her face. Her gaze was complex as she looked at Ding Yao.
At that moment, there was no need for pretense; she could just act naturally. Anyone seeing a child less than three years old commit murder would surely have a complicated expression.
“Show me,” she said, extending her palm.
Ding Yao placed a small blade in her hand.