Su Jing noticed his gaze but said nothing more.
His slender fingers came together in a sword-pointing gesture, lightly touching one of the Demon Butterflies.
On the snow-white handkerchief, the purple-patterned butterfly, as if truly struck by a sword, had its wings sharply severed, leaking out crimson blood in copious amounts.
At once, a rich and unusual sweet fragrance diffused through the air.
This sweet scent was particularly ancient and odd, not particularly pleasant or refreshing, yet it vaguely made one feel addicted, longing to breathe in every remaining trace of it.
This feeling was terrifying.
Even though one knew it was wrong, control seemed impossible.
Su Jing's fingertips released a faint blue Lotus Fire, which engulfed the bloody remnants of the butterfly, burning it along with that peculiar fragrance as if purified by a great fire, leaving only a refreshing scent in the air.
With the scent gone, Fang Geyu and Li Jiujiu's complexions finally improved.
