The girl—no, the young woman—was not very old, looking only seventeen or eighteen. Her skin was fair, her face delicate, her features exquisite. A pair of black-diamond eyes stood out with particular brilliance amid the swirling snow.
In terms of looks, she could be considered a beauty not much inferior to Ding Zhanyun. Yet unlike Ding Zhanyun's youthful radiance, this young woman possessed a trace of maternal tenderness that girls her age did not have.
She was young, but she was about to become a mother. What occupied her thoughts was not truly her own safety, but whether the child in her womb would live or die. That was the obsession buried deep in her heart.
A woman so beautiful and moving, yet so ill-fated, could easily stir another's pity. But Meng Zhao was different. Though he did feel compassion, he was not some spineless do-gooder with no principles.
If he had to intervene whenever he saw someone pitiable, then there were countless pitiful people in the world, undoubtedly many hundreds or thousands of times more miserable than this woman. Was Meng Zhao supposed to spend his entire life traveling the realm, suppressing the strong and aiding the weak, acting as a righteous hero?
Of course not. But she had indeed moved him now, changing his mind. He no longer wished to stand by and watch as she was carried off by her pursuers.
Because she had given Meng Zhao a reason to act: she was offering information about a Divine Skill manual in exchange for his help. That suited Meng Zhao's principles perfectly.
Moving one's lips and using so-called misery to force others into helping—was that not moral blackmail?
But this was different. She was using her own value as payment to hire Meng Zhao. That was not moral