Late at night.
In the City Guard Army camp.
Quick Snow lay across his knees, Wei Yan sat alone in the military tent with his back to the tent flap.
Inside the tent was pitch black, without a single light.
And Zhao Lang, just sat there directly on the ground outside the military tent, on the other side of the tent flap.
The high-raised brazier burned in front of him, making his face redden in its glow.
The two men sat back-to-back, separated by the tent flap.
The patrolling soldiers didn't glance sideways, as if they were accustomed to this scene.
It seemed neither Zhao Lang had the intention to lift the flap and go in, nor Wei Yan to come out.
Whenever he couldn't contain his killing intent, Wei Yan would shut himself in the military tent.
And every time, Zhao Lang would sit outside the tent.
It had happened too many times to count.
It was as if it became a part of their lives.
"Do you think I'm pitiful?" Wei Yan suddenly asked through the tent flap.
