A patch of white suddenly appeared on the east-facing window. From outside came the rush of bird calls—crisp and long, piercing the dawn of midsummer. Day had broken, and the sun was rising.
The lamp in the room was still burning, and beneath its light, three figures were swaying and overlapping.
Fang Yi’s clothes were drenched in sweat, and his hands were stained with blood, but he did not waver in the slightest, remaining completely focused on stitching the wounds. Huang Tian’s body bore numerous injuries; his flesh was torn open, and bloody gasps of all sizes crisscrossed like an old, tattered fishing net.
Chapter 340