Jiang huailu was firmly held in the young man's arms as her skirt fluttered.
He was clearly a ghost, but his aura was so intimidating that anyone who looked at him would be intimidated.
The young man's features were like a painting, but there was an inerasable hostility between his brows.
It was only when he saw the little girl in front of him that he became gentler.
"Lulu, Lulu ..."
In the fog, there was the sound of footsteps.
It was the Xia clan.
The Xia clan had come with the yin-yang difference.
Jiang huailu, who was lying in the young man's arms, peeked out and took a peek.
The young man had been holding her from the beginning to the end, standing quietly in the center of the array, watching the group of people retreat, not even looking at them from the corner of his eyes.
"Huai 'an, Huai' an ..." Jiang Huai 'an was lying on the ground, his life or death unknown.
Breaking through the fog, Madam Xia hugged Jiang Huai 'an and cried out loud.
