After several days of rain, the weather was gloomy.
The prison cell was growing darker and more damp.
A man dressed in white sat on the shabby little couch, with a rickety table placed in front of him.
Yet it did not affect his strong and vigorous brush strokes, as if they were iron painted silver hooks, graceful and surprising.
"Master, if you don't return to Great Xia soon, the Sect Leader will really come to capture you personally! Even if you don't want to leave Bianliao, why go through such…"
Yong Ye wanted to say, self-degradation.
But he ultimately dared not speak it out loud.
The man in white slowly lifted his head, his brows and eyes were as picturesque as a painting, like a clear moon and gentle breeze. Even in such an environment, he was still like a bright moon in the sky, lofty and elegant, unrivaled in refinement.
His white deep robe was spotless.
His clear gaze was warm and gentle, yet always carried an inscrutable coldness.
