Self-Sacrificing Elder Sister
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- Parts 3
Kang Huifan was your typical college student, ways studying for exams or working on assignments, but on one of her rare days of rest, she decided to return to one of her favorite comfort novels. Little did she know, her life would meet a tragic end the night she fell asleep with the novel laying on her chest. The stove, mistakenly left on after dinner was made, brought flames to the paper towels next to it, and the flames just continued to spread from all the scattered papers and books on her dorm's counters. In the confined space of the dorm, the flames quickly took over, and Kang Huifan had no understanding of what was happening until it was too late, and the smoke caused her to pass out as she attempted to exit from the dorm.
Even more surprisingly, she opened her eyes to a shabby porridge stand in a nearly empty street that was a few centuries out of date. As she tried to make an understanding of her surroundings, a small whimper sounded from behind her, and a young boy with black hair and silver eyes peeked out from the alley, a scared look in his eyes.
(This is the rewrite. As I'm writing this, I might go back and edit some things, so if you notice something new, that might be what happened.)
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#189
modaozushi
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The air was tense, humming with power, as Kim Taehyung sat at the head of the long, dark mahogany table. His fingers, adorned with silver rings, lazily held a lit cigarette between them, the ember glowing like a predator's eye in the dark. He was a sight to behold-draped in a black silk shirt, unbuttoned just enough to tease a glimpse of his sculpted chest, the fabric clinging to his body like a second skin. A tailored black blazer sat perfectly on his broad shoulders, the intricate embroidery along the lapels shimmering subtly under the dim lights. His black dress pants were fitted, cinched with an expensive belt, the silver buckle engraved with his initials. And his shoes-Italian leather, polished to perfection-completed his aura of deadly elegance. But what truly stole the breath away was the way he held his gun-a Colt Dragoon revolver, an old yet reliable piece, resting in his grip like an extension of his own body. The metal glinted coldly as he tilted it slightly, his thumb brushing over the barrel
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