The World of Mist Whispers: Being Unsympathetic and Ungrateful

Standing in front of the corpse with fear, the blood had not yet dried. The dead man was the successor of another elemental god. His chest was pierced, and the elemental mark spread from his neck, like a withered flower. Hu Chun didn't recognize him, but he recognized the way he died - being eaten back by his own elements, burning through his heart bit by bit. He opened the stiff hand. There was a piece of paper clutched in his hand. The handwriting is messy, as if it was carved with the last effort: "Don't trust the angels around you." "That's a conspiracy." There was the sound of wings folding behind him. A pair of cold arms came around from behind, and his chin gently rested on his shoulder. The angel who had been protecting him since he was 15 years old was burying his face in the side of his neck, breathing warm and evenly. "What are you looking at?" The angel's voice was very soft, like feathers falling on the water. Suddenly, he didn't look back. He could feel the eyes staring at the note from the gap in his shoulders for so long that the air became thick. Then those eyes slowly raised and met his side face. Gentle. It's so gentle that it's like looking at a treasure that you don't want to break. Suddenly he laughed. He folded the note, stuffed it back into his already cold hand, and patted the back of the corpse's hand, as if to say - thank you. Then he turned his head, so close that he could count the number of angel eyelashes. "We are one"