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"It seems I really have transmigrated—"
In the lavishly decorated carriage, Zong Shou stared expressionlessly at the round mirror before him.
The image in the mirror was undeniably of a not-yet-of-age boy. Around thirteen years old, pale-faced, but his features were rarely handsome and exquisitely perfect.
A pair of narrow phoenix eyes, brimming with luster. But at the moment, they were filled with bitterness and helplessness.
He remembered that not long ago, he still had an extremely ordinary face, the kind that one definitely couldn't find in a crowd.
