Her gaze fell on Fang Geyu like ice and snow, revealing a trace of bleakness that was about to melt away.
Fang Geyu's bewildered eyes paused slightly; the arrogance that had not faded despite being in the never-ending fierce flames was entirely stripped away at that moment.
Clean things always show a hint of fragility.
She was like a proud white crane with damaged wings, refusing to lower its flight, still circling in the sky—suddenly, unexpectedly hit by an arrow, striking a vital spot.
The taste of blood lingered in her throat, a mist formed in her eyes, and she slowly opened her lips, with the burning pain of fresh blood, her voice choked, calling softly, "Mother."
In the rolling wind, the woman seemed to respond to the call. With her right hand holding a sword behind her back, she suddenly bent down, her left hand gently touching the young girl's cracked and bloodied face, their foreheads meeting.
