The person in Beiming's arms was as light as a feather. Blood gushed from her chest, soaking through his dark robes and the organs within him, already shattered to pieces. He could clearly feel her body growing colder, bit by bit. Her once pearly white fingertips slowly turned blue, and the scent of medicine on her breath faded into the evening breeze. Just moments ago, she had been telling him, "Let's go see the sea next year." Now, she could no longer form even a whisper. Only the unshed tear at the corner of her eye remained, scorching his bones with pain. Nan Qiao died at the hands of the person she loved most. This was the year they loved each other most...
