Bitter almonds entered her throat, recalling the worthlessness of her life and that she had never been cherished by anyone. An Lingrong closed her eyes in pain.
Who would have thought that when he opened his eyes, it was not the underworld, let alone the eighteen levels of hell, but the small sedan before entering the palace, with Aunt Qiao holding his hand tightly in the heavy rain...
Once again, where should An Lingrong go?
Intention: Don't fight, don't fight, lie down