Father Emperor.
At some point, Jiang Jingyi had rushed into the battlefield between the two emperors. Stumbling to the bottom of the crater, she threw herself down beside Jiang Zhao. "Father, how are you? Can you still hold on?"
Her voice trembled as she hurriedly channeled her True Yuan, trying to repair Jiang Zhao's body. Yet his body was like a deflated ball—however much True Yuan she poured in, just as much leaked back out, serving no real purpose.
As the Female Emperor, how could she fail to see that Jiang Zhao had reached the end of his life? He had burned himself out completely. At this moment, he was like a piece of charcoal burned black through and through, ready to crumble at the slightest touch.
A few tears silently traced down her face. This was the first time Jiang Jingyi had lost control so completely, before everyone.
She had sat too high for too long, where the cold was unbearable.
Her rebellious eldest brother, her troublemaking younger brother—caught between them, she had been both the punching bag and the eldest sister who stood in for a mother. She had never once been herself.
Jiang Zhao's appearance had brought her back to those happy yet fleeting days she had not visited in so long.
She was still that daughter who could curl up at her father's side, a little girl who did not need to think about anything or worry about anything.
Because when the sky fell, someone would hold it up. But the man who could hold up the heavens seemed about to leave again.
Even if he was a puppet birthed by the Eternal Mulberry, the memories were real, and so were the feelings.
With great difficulty, Jiang Zhao raised a hand, wanting to wipe away the