Eighteen years, Yang Fan was nominally nineteen, exactly eighteen years old.
Child, eighteen years ago, Yang Fan was just a baby.
At the crossroads of Wugu, that was the place where the master had picked him up.
These three sentences were the last words left by the old man, perfectly linking to Yang Fan.
Could it be that he was related to the Baili Family?
This bold guess made Yang Fan shiver with fear.
And who was that old man? Why did he reveal this secret only at his death?
It is no coincidence that random words could perfectly correspond with Yang Fan's origin.
Could it indeed be that he had found clues to his own origin?
Yang Fan hesitated, for those parents who abandoned him, Yang Fan could say they were already dead.
But which child does not want to know who their parents are? Who doesn't want to know where they come from?
"Fanfan, Fanfan, what's wrong with you?" There was no response from the phone for a long time, Lu Hanshuang called out several times.
