At that moment, the Qing Shadow Sword had already flown back into Ye Qinghong's hand.
Ye Qinghong, with her ponytail fluttering, had a clear and cold look in her eyes.
She was planning to go to the Tianyin Sect as well.
A figure flashed in front of her.
His gaze profound, his black robe billowing.
It was her master.
The moment she saw her master, her entire body trembled slightly, and she remembered that kiss from before.
A ripple stirred in her cool eyes.
The hand holding the sword turned even paler.
The normally indifferent her was, for a moment, at a loss, uncertain how to face the situation.
And to Fang Yang who witnessed this scene, it naturally appeared as a hesitation troubled by a deformed love.
He sighed, his gaze softening.
Like a fatherly figure, his broad palm rested on Ye Qinghong's head.
Ye Qinghong's body trembled, and she was about to dodge.
But the next moment...
