Zhi'er gritted her teeth: "My ninetieth merit, don't you dare run!"
She lifted her dress and chased outside the window.
However, she immediately saw.
Zhang Sheng's head had already been crushed under a black boot.
Zhi'er followed the boot upwards with her eyes.
A lean waist, a solid chest, a black robe, and that familiar cold and handsome face.
Zhi'er beamed, her smile sweet and adorable: "Didn't I tell you to wait at the door for a moment? I was about to catch him."
Feng Fuce's face was stern: "This male ghost is cunning and slippery; if I left it entirely to you, he would have run away long ago."
His gaze fell on her bridal attire, seemingly even more displeased.
Feng Fuce pushed down with his foot, making Zhang Sheng scream as his head was stomped into flying ash.
Zhi'er watched as Zhang Sheng turned to ashes and disappeared.
She curiously looked around.
"Huh? Zhang Sheng is dead, why hasn't this ghost mansion collapsed?"
