Qiao Xiguan was about to bend down to pick it up when Ye Wu, in her black leather boots, had already squatted down, the black pistol pressing straight against her forehead.
Gu Zichen had said that as long as her head wasn't blown off, she wouldn't die.
Was this the rhythm of death now?!
She looked up to see Ye Wu's cold-blooded face, her bloodthirsty eyes, and her slender fingers gently pulling the trigger.
"Ye Wu, I advise you not to shoot," said a cold-blooded voice suddenly from behind her.
Ye Wu's eyes flickered slightly, but her expression remained unimpassioned.
Compared to Qiao Xiguan's collapsing emotions at this moment, she appeared calm and collected.
Even with a cold barrel of a gun pressing against the back of Ye Wu's head.
"Gu Zichen, do you think when you blow off my head, Qiao Xiguan will enjoy the same treatment at the same time?" Ye Wu said coldly.
"That's why I'm suggesting that you don't shoot," Gu Zichen spelled out, word by word.
