Life is as splendid as summer flowers, death as serene and beautiful as autumn leaves.
Zhou Yan silently watched Ling He, yet he did not immediately recover himself, instead, he felt a sigh of life.
As for the injuries, one reason is that their recovery requires gradual progress, another is that Zhou Yan had no strong desire to deliberately recover himself and battle with Ling He.
Even though Ling He was no longer Ling He.
"Connecting the limitless green to the sky, the lotus flowers reflecting the sun are uniquely red. Ling He, I once promised your parents to take care of you, now that one of us must die, what is the necessity of fighting? If you want to take my life, then come."
Zhou Yan said calmly.
He lay on the cold ground, but now slowly sat up, with his body still stained with blood that had yet to dry, making him seem quite desolate.
No longer spirited, no longer ethereal and aloof, it seemed he had been through much, already old, with the day waning.
