Feeling Ling Chuxi's fingertips trembling slightly and sensing the sadness in her heart, Huangfu Qingjue was slightly stunned. After that, he lowered his eyelids, and an expression of tender affection swept across his face.
After Ling Chuxi had finished applying medicine on Huangfu Qingjue's wounds, the two of them continued walking forward. Without knowing when Huangfu Qingjue's hand once again held onto Ling Chuxi's hand tightly and warmly.
At this moment, in the depths of Little Silver Ancient Mountain, a few middle-aged men were kneeling in front of an old man. This old man had a face full of wrinkles resembling a thousand-year-old tree bark. No one was able to tell how long he had lived for, but his eyes were still bright and gave off a strong and majestic invisible suppression.
