The noise around the cloth market gradually subsided as Ye Fan and Qín Wǎnshuāng walked side by side toward the center of town. His boot heels crushed vegetable juice on the blue stone slabs. The tiny golden glow within his inner world was still burning, like a piece of amber heated by fire, making his lower dantian feel slightly tight.
The image of that bronze ring grasped by bloody hands in his past life flashed before his eyes, and a metallic taste rose in his throat—back then, this very object had provoked a siege by three major sects, causing him to perish in a dry well at the mass grave.
"Young Master Ye?" Qín Wǎnshuāng's voice was like a goose feather, gently brushing against his taut nerves. Today she wore a moon-white direct-cut robe, and the jade crown binding her hair emitted a soft glow under the sun. If not for the faint, elusive scent of aloeswood lingering around her sleeves as she walked closer, who would ever guess this refined young scholar was actually the Eldest Princess of Great Chu?
Chapter 77