The snow was heavy, and the blood stains behind Song Qian were quickly buried.
He dragged his exhausted body forward aimlessly in a white snowfield.
Before he passed out, he saw a young man standing in the snow.
Is this death? An immortal came to pick me up...
This is probably a short story, so I won't say much~
Thanks for reading!
Please collect~Please comment~
Intention: Love and hate cannot be controlled by oneself.