Du Qianqian looked at her in terror, leaning against the cold stone coffin, feeling as if her heart was about to stop.
Her body slumped down at an incredibly fast pace, like a balloon that had been pricked with a needle, sitting in front of the coffin.
"Are you Wei Shiyue?" Du Qianqian's voice stammered.
She nodded her head, then commanded Du Qianqian to be silent.
Du Qianqian watched fixedly the one she had once transformed into—her true form was a dragon, a beautiful White Dragon. No wonder people adored dragons; such beautiful, agile, and graceful creatures seemed so out of place on this filthy ground.
Wei Shiyue's human appearance was even more heroic, with silver-white hair tied back in a neat single braid, eyes the color of blood, an indifferent expression, and a cold demeanor as if her attention was never on Du Qianqian, exuding pure and flawless nobility.
