Emperor Mingde on the sickbed had a towering dagger in front of his chest, and half of his pale and aging cheeks were stained with scattered blood stains. At this time, he only had half a breath left, and when he glimpsed such a scene, he was even more breathless, his withered arm was shaking, but unfortunately he couldn't lift it up again no matter what, and his voice was so low and hoarse that it seemed like he was about to break his breath.

"You, you, you—"

"My good father, why can't it be me! Why! On what ground

"After being widowed, she became the general's white moonlight" one hundred and eighty-seven is in the hand, please wait a moment,

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