Ye Qinghong trembled all over.
The Heart Demon surged in her once more.
Her cheeks flushed red, her mind a complete blank.
Before she could react, the kiss had ended.
And she was embraced in those broad, strong arms, so warm, so secure.
It was as intoxicating as if she were in her father's arms.
For a moment, she recalled the dusty past events, the images from the Heart Demon of her master's solid, steadfast body.
Her skin quivered even more.
The coldness in her eyes turned into spring water, rippling constantly.
Fang Yang held Ye Qinghong in his arms, fully aware of what was on his disciple's mind.
What a tragic romance!
Such restraint and such passion in these feelings, occurring in his coldest and most indifferent first disciple.
He could almost imagine how Ye Qinghong must have tossed and turned every night.
Thinking of the words his first disciple had just spoken, he sighed.
His gaze was firm as if he had made the most difficult decision.
