Xiao Dao recalled when Meng Fuyao had held her cold hands outside of Deepspring Brothel. She also remembered when Meng Fuyao would cover her up at night and apply medication on the wounds that were inflicted by the brothel keeper. In contrast, the man in a white robe would look at her in a way that made her uncomfortable. She couldn't understand it, but her instincts had helped her distinguish between kindness and hostility.
And this man here was probably Meng Fuyao's love interest. The latter often avoided looking at him, but when they did exchange glances, it was similar to those shared between her own parents.
Xiao Dao bit her lips, thinking about her mother, who had to work barefooted in the winter months. She also thought about the barren land on which her tribesmen were residing, and how no one had been able to fill their tummy.
