Even in his thoughts and dreams, MingYu couldn't hide from the simmering anger that plagued his mind, gnawing at his bones like thousands of ants trying to eat him alive.
Long gone were the thick blankets of snow that silenced MingYu's steps. It was a spring day, with plum trees in full bloom, painting their stone path with purple petals. The sun beamed down at MingYu irritatingly in this memory that didn't belong to him.
Lan Guan-Yin, however, seemed unfazed by it, her steps light, sweet cherry lips whistling a children's song as she reached Ye WeiRu's sect grounds. The blood had long dried on her light blue robes, the blotches of crimson hardened into black and brown patches.
