"I feel the same, nice to meet you, Miss Zhao."
Ye Wudao shook her hand and suddenly furrowed his brow for a moment, as he noticed that Zhao Shishi's hand was very cold, almost as if it had no temperature.
Such a condition usually indicated an underlying illness, often congenital, and Ye Wudao remembered a particular cold-handed disease that usually prevented those afflicted from living past eighteen. It appeared that Zhao Shishi must have sought help from a master to extend her life, enabling her to survive up to now.
However, during that brief handshake, Ye Wudao sensed that her condition was fairly serious, even dire; she had at most six months to live. But Ye Wudao kept his mouth shut, merely smiling at her before releasing her hand.
"Let's get in the car, Xiao Han. I've prepared a grand feast for you, and there are many people who are eager to meet a goddess like you," Zhao Shishi said to Song Yuhan, unaware of Ye Wudao's thoughts.
