Pi Yanlin was jolted awake by the mournful sobbing of the Wangchuan River Water.
In a haze, he saw his own soul drifting in mid-air, looking down at the blue-tiled roof of the Xuan'an Bureau. Gu Qinghuan was cradling his physical body, her fingertips pressed hard into his philtrum, her knuckles turned bone-white.
Dewdrops clung to her eyelashes—or perhaps it was tears—and fell onto his pale face, as cold as the ice shards of the Yellow Springs.
Chapter 134