Next Sunday is that person's death anniversary.
For the past five thousand years, whether in times of peace or chaos, she had always prepared well for his death anniversary.
Almost everyone present could feel Bai Chuwei's low spirits. Yang Shuhui was still considering how to comfort her niece when Bai Chuwei lightly curled her lips, returning to her usual laziness.
She rose to her feet and handed the cloth bag that had been hanging on her arm to Yang Shuhui, "This is the vegetables I picked from the countryside today, for you to try."
The vegetables emitted a faint fresh scent, they seemed different from ordinary vegetables. Yang Shuhui received the bag and before she could take a good look at which vegetables were inside, a black shadow charged over fiercely like an arrow released from its bow—
Bai Ze was shocked and instinctively wanted to send the intruder flying, but his hand stiffened halfway.
