The battle against Guo Pingrong had led to Meng Fuyao's breakthrough, cultivation-wise, but it had also infected her with a strange poison. Meng Fuyao believed it was fate that had strengthened her abilities and determination. The sword of destiny had slashed some threads that had been entangled within the deep corners of her consciousness.
She paced back and forth before the city entrance. Zong Yue cast a somewhat meaningful backward glance before whipping his horse. It was then that Meng Fuyao snapped out of it and caught up.
Her sesame-black hair swayed in the wind as a fresh red sun descended behind her delicate back. The sky was layered beautifully, and the silhouette of a girl ascending her horse and setting out gradually faded into the sunset glow.
But she wasn't aware of something.
