Sitting on the cloud carpet in the side hall of Lingxiao Palace is a little girl wearing a goose-yellow bellyband.
She looked to be about one and a half years old, with a small pink face and dark eyes like black glass soaked in a clear spring. She was staring unblinkingly at the row of old immortals standing crookedly in front of her.
The air was a little too stagnant.
"You guys," Ximo said, her voice milky, but with the aura of an imminent storm, "Don't you want a nest?"
She stretched out a chubby finger and clicked one by one: "Where should I send the nest?"
"There is still mud," she pointed at Si Mingxingjun, who was secretly wiping sweat, frowning like a serious little adult, "Stop sighing, there are three long and two short, it is not a good sign."
