Qiao Wei's return from death had been a triumphant feat, yet the victory tasted hollow on his tongue.
While the rest of the Wushan Temple Sect celebrated their hard-earned victory at the Spiritual Mountain Competition with a lavish feast, Qiao Wei chose to distance himself from the crowd and sat in the garden to admire the full moon up high in the sky.
Bai Ling, who caught a glimpse of Qiao Wei's retreating figure, felt a pang of worry grip her heart. The raucous celebration faded into a muffled backdrop as she followed him, her steps hesitant yet determined.
The full moon hung heavy in the sky, yet its light seemed to cast Qiao Wei in an even deeper shadow.
Qiao Wei's eyes were akin to pools of fathomless shadows, his face an unreadable mask. Each joyous shout from the feast seemed to amplify the emptiness he felt within.
