The Prince crawled up, disoriented. “W-what’s going on…”


    Yan Xiaohan looked at the man behind them in utter bewilderment.


    Ren Miao held the fire iron in his left hand, frowning when he moved his right one about; apparently, he had sprained his wrist from the sudden force. Sensing Yan Xiaohan’s gaze, he raised his head and smiled at him, eyes filled with apology. “Sorry, I was hasty just then. Didn’t hurt you, did I?”