Leng Yehan's time machine made deep and shallow tracks in ten lifetimes, each one pointing in the direction of Murong Qianxue.
He tore the three souls and seven souls into pieces and dispersed them into the reincarnations of human beings, demons and demons - it was the silver bell on the knight's sword, ringing out her familiar rhythm; it was the inkstone on the female officer's desk, reflecting the strength of her writing; it was the silk ribbon on the fairy's duster, entwined with thoughts related to her; it was the flame in the witch's eyes, burning with the same unquenched persistence.
The remaining pages of history were turning in the wind. He held half a soul fire and recognized her traces among millions of faces. Those fragments scattered in different bodies hide her eyes, her tone, and her unique posture. Even if she is as cold as ice, even if she is weird, he can recognize the familiarity engraved in her soul at a glance.
After ten lifetimes of pursuit, the three souls and seven souls finally gathered together. Standing at the end of the other shore, watching the door of reincarnation slowly open, and the light of the time machine gradually dimming, he looked at the figure about to enter a new life, and asked softly:
"In the next life, even if you have forgotten your past and the frost and snow cover your shoulders, will you still be familiar with me for a moment?"
Wherever the wind passes, there seems to be an echo from thousands of years ago, as light as an unawakened dream.
