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"King Pingdeng..."
Cen Dongsheng hadn't even spoken a few words when he saw the other party gently shake her head.
"Just call me Yi Qingyan."
She raised her finger, and an invisible blade carved on the ground, seriously writing down those three characters—
"Qing is this Qing... Yan is this Yan."
Yi Qingyan.
Cen Dongsheng silently committed it to memory.
"...Miss Yi."
"Hmm."
"Thank you. If you hadn't appeared in time, my colleagues and I might have died here."
Yi Qingyan looked at the little girl he was holding by the hand. She had been in the basement for several days, dirty, her black-and-white eyes unwaveringly staring at her.
Such a gaze appearing in a girl just over ten years old, in a town full of the dead...
She had seen it countless times before and didn't need to ask to understand what had happened.
Yi Qingyan smiled, looking at Cen Dongsheng.
