The sharp scissors were covered in blood, enveloped with a bone-chilling hatred. Just by grabbing them, Han Fei's skin felt a sting.
It was hard to imagine that these scissors had been embedded in a girl's heart.
"Leave the rest to me now."
Han Fei had the girl hide. When he emerged from her hiding spot, the gentle expression on his face had completely vanished, replaced by a numb, icy intent to kill.
His blood-drenched left arm was marked with numerous cuts, each representing a death and the pain that came with it.
Amidst constant death and rebirth, Han Fei had forgotten many things.
He had lost the smiles and joy inside him, and even his only pleasant memories were stripped away. Now, his mind only retained a few names such as Wei Youfu, Huang Ying, and Xu Qin, but he couldn't match these names with their faces—it was as if they were merely passersby in his life.
Forgotten, thus forgotten.