The rain was still falling. Ye Qinghong stood amidst the hazy drizzle, quietly gazing towards the direction of the White Jade Tower, clutching her sword tightly, her eyes revealing a trace of confusion. The killing intent on her was not yet fully dissipated, seemingly blending with the world around her.
She looked so cold, so lonely.
Ye Qinghong rarely harbored the intent to kill, and she was also quite restrained about her love for her master because of the story he had told her, and because of her personality.
For her, the only way to compete for her master's affection, to marry him, and to become the sole mistress was to stay by his master's side.
She would grit her teeth and persist, never leaving nor forsaking him, no matter what happened.
This was the character of Ye Qinghong, honorable and upright, choosing the straight path over the crooked.
But now, she could clearly feel a hint of sourness and jealousy growing deep within her.
