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"It seems I really have transmigrated—"
In the lavishly decorated carriage, Zong Shou looked at the round mirror before him, his face expressionless.
The reflection showed a youth not yet of age. About thirteen, with a pale complexion, yet his features were uncommonly handsome and exquisitely perfect.
A pair of slender phoenix eyes sparkled brilliantly, but at this moment, they were filled with bitterness and helplessness.
He remembered that not long ago, he distinctly had an extremely ordinary face, the kind that would be absolutely unrecognizable in a crowd.
