The wisps of blue smoke curled in the air.
Inside, Gong Ping shook the divination tube, while Jiang He, dressed in a black blouse, stood at the edge of the corridor, one hand on her belly, quietly surveying her surroundings.
In the past, she wielded her sword through the jianghu, merely to survive.
She could hardly understand the restlessness and guilt-ridden conscience those literary characters suffered after returning to a peaceful life.
Every era had its rules; back then, it was the laws of the jianghu. The so-called strong were but unfortunate souls, all struggling. If she didn't act, she would be the one to die.
With a clear conscience, one need not fear ghosts and gods.
The ones haunted by nightmares probably committed many deeds that weighed on their conscience.
