"Master, I can't do it, I really can't, I'm just a worthless good-for-nothing!"
In the lavish great hall, with its intricately carved beams and painted rafters, resplendent in every corner, Cheng Ping, now dressed in brocade, without any demeanor warranting such splendor, kneels on the ground, pleading desperately with the indifferent white-robed young man.
"So, what do you want to talk about?"
Feng Qing'an looks down at the young man knelt at his feet, devoid of any royal aura.
"Master, can't you let me go back, I really can't do it, I can't protect everyone, I'm useless, I'm a failure."
Young Cheng Ping lifts his head, his countenance filled with panic, fear, and a trace of expectation.
Just within half a month, he, who once thought his life worthless and dull, is now suffocating under the heavy burden thrust upon him.
