"If Your Highness insists on leaving, you might as well take off your mask first."
Jing Hua looked at the most mysterious Tanhua Lang in the capital and stretched out his hand tremblingly.
The mask fell down, revealing a face exactly like Qing Chan's.
But three years ago, Qingchan clearly died in his arms.
"Why, you are disappointed that I am still alive despite the poisoned wine fed by His Highness himself?"
Tanhua Lang smiled, but the hatred from three years ago was hidden in his eyes.
Intention: optimistic