In a dilapidated building, a young female cultivator with a good appearance was bound by ropes to her limbs, suspended over a large bed. Zhuo Ying was letting out vile laughter, removing the female cultivator's clothes piece by piece.
Seeing tears of humiliation and grief streaming down the woman's face, he laughed even louder.
"Cry, the more pitifully you cry, the more satisfied I am." He grabbed the female cultivator's chin harshly, his expression ferocious.
But at this moment, a knock on the door suddenly resounded.
Bang, bang, bang.
With a face full of annoyance from being disturbed, Zhuo Ying shouted irritably, "Get lost! What's with stirring up trouble at this time, looking for death?"
Yet, the knocking at the door continued relentlessly, as if determined to see it through.
"Damn it, something's up!"
