"Qiniang."
"Yun'er."
Those two words were like spring breeze, blowing Ji Yun's heart.
In that appearance, his face looked like a melon seed shell, with willow-leaf eyebrows, pink and phoenix eyes, small lips, painted a little red, and a pair of eyes that seemed to be able to squeeze out water.
Ji Yun was fascinated, fascinated by Qiniang's appearance, fascinated by Qiniang's figure, fascinated by Qiniang's voice, fascinated by his Qiniang, fascinated by his father's seventh aunt, fascinated by that man.
For him, he killed people, set fires, and killed his own relatives with his own hands.
Whether he has changed or not, whether he hates himself or not, whether he is stupid, it is better not to be stupid.
As long as he is always by his side, there is no need to leave, no need to leave, as long as he stays by his side obediently, as long as his Qiniang is safe in his life.
"Qiniang?"
"Ji-yun-"