It was indeed cold outside the river, but the chill could not hurt her. However, compared to the old Taoist's warm palm, song qingxiao could feel the pervasive chill more deeply.
Ever since she had entered the divine incarcerate, she had always acted on her own will and had never cowered or retreated.
However, she did not know why, but when the old Daoist asked her this question, she felt a strange uneasiness.
"It's good that you didn't."
The old Daoist saw that she had lowered her head and wanted to raise his hand to stroke her head.
However, as soon as he raised his hand, he realized that his little disciple, who had always been obedient and pleasant in his impression, had grown so tall. Even if her head was lowered, she was not at the age where he could raise his hand and touch her head.
"Qing Xiao." He called out gently, completely lacking the sternness he had when he was arguing with the woman earlier. Instead, he was filled with endless tender love for her,
