On the streets of Chang'an, the rain fell in a spray.
Ye Qinghong followed Fang Yang closely behind, biting her lips tightly, her heart filled with an overwhelming bitterness, at a loss for what to do.
Right then, amidst the wind and rain, came Fang Yang's teasing voice, directly reaching her ears, causing her body to jolt, and a tuft of her black hair to ripple slightly.
Her incredibly beautiful eyes showed a flash of astonishment, disbelief.
Staring blankly at her master, she couldn't believe that these words had come from his mouth.
"What's the matter, unwilling? If you're unwilling, forget it then. It seems that my disciple doesn't hold that much affection for me after all. I must have been deluding myself."
Fang Yang shook his head, sighing helplessly.
The next moment, Ye Qinghong's eyes widened dramatically, she gripped her sword tightly in her hand, looking steadily at her master, her eyelashes flickering rapidly, her gaze becoming much brighter.
