This was a scene that Yuan Xuelan had seen before.
Liu Sumeng had an expression, stilled and bittersweet and Yuan Xuelan could do nothing more than shoulder all the anguish that the Ivory Sword Saint bore.
After all, it was his fault.
This much, he knew. Silei roared with fire, with lightning and clashed Xianlong's ice. Liu Sumeng wore a bittersweet expression and even when Yuan Xuelan felt the sting of pain in his chest he felt that he could do nothing more than laugh.
Laugh at the face of death.
Laugh at the face of the end.
He wanted nothing more than the velvety touch of Liu Sumeng's lips. The curves of his body. The warmth and the occasional sweet words that he did not deserve. Yuan Xuelan laughed when he wanted to cry.
Please call me Yuan Zhang he thought fervently. Please love me, kiss me tenderly. Those words could not leave his mouth, locked away by some unknown force. The same force that led him to laugh hysterically.
