"His Highness Haotian, are you alright?" Zhao Wuji asked, burning with anxiety as a gust of wind followed his hurried strides toward Tang Hao. Concern and worry were etched into every line of his face as if deeply carved. His eyes were wide, bloodshot around the rims, and practically popping out of his sockets.
With a slight tremble in his voice—fragile and helpless like a withered leaf drifting in late autumn—he anxiously asked, "His Highness Haotian, you simply cannot be hurt!" His lips quivered, the words squeezed out from between his teeth, every single one laden with deep anxiety and fear. Zhao Wuji's hands rose involuntarily as if to steady Tang Hao, but fearing that touching him might worsen his injuries, they remained frozen in mid-air.
Tang Hao braced himself, standing as straight as a giant tree refusing to fall in a gale. Clenching his teeth so hard they felt ready to shatter, he forced two words out through them: "I'm fine." Then, lifting a hand that felt as heavy as a thousand jun, he weakly wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. The movement was agonizingly slow and laborious, each inch seemingly draining the last ounce of his strength.
Chapter 128