Little Fox cheerfully waved her fist at Meng Yu, signaling "see you tomorrow," then turned her head, only to encounter her ancestor's look of utter despair.
She blinked, blinked again, not understanding what had happened.
...
Meng Yu felt somewhat numb, the fierce battle of two hours had been exhausting. Once he relaxed, he found thinking difficult.
Entering his room and taking a seat, his mind was still fixated on the myriad scenarios of the battlefield.
Sword techniques flowed through his mind, numerous details resurfacing, until a sweet voice interrupted his thoughts.
"My Lord, the bedding and everything else are ready."
Lan Qiong's voice was gentle and serene, a blush of shyness on her face.
Meng Yu hummed a response, paying little attention to these trivial details.
He had died in battle twenty-seven times, a full twenty-seven times, each time teetering on the edge of life and death!
