Nanyang Sect, Inner Sect, a bamboo grove courtyard specially refurbished in advance.
On the bed, a young man dressed in the white robes of Nanyang, his eyes slightly closed, breathing elongated.
His eyes dare not close tightly due to an innate caution, while the elongated breathing represented the weariness of his Divine Soul.
On his pale face, finally there was less harshness, adding a rare tenderness to his handsome features.
As if reminiscing about pancakes by the roadside of Baiyun County, a bowl of chives noodles in the Demon-suppression Bureau's drill ground in Qingzhou, mutton soup eaten over two occasions thousands of miles apart, and the spicy throat medicine wine inside the decrepit temple on Creek Terrace Mountain.
And beyond that—
Shen Yi's expression suddenly became detached, his fingertips moved slightly as he subconsciously reached toward his arm bend.
There used to be a knife there, but now he felt only emptiness.
