Nan Mingqing did not respond with words; in truth, the breath he was holding made it impossible for him to utter even a single syllable.
Lingling—for all these years, he had been running away from her, dreading precisely a day like this. Who could have imagined that his continuous silence, day after day, would eventually curdle into a tacit understanding.
He slowly closed his eyes, feeling his vital energy ebb away as if the blood in his entire veins had frozen still, the aura of death gradually devouring his body.
Chapter 358