They say there was once a master who took his enemy's daughter as his disciple, then manipulated her into making her own flesh and blood turn against each other, finally soothing the hatred in his heart.
Though the situation before them did not seem quite comparable—after all, Wen Li was theoretically trying to save someone—it was hard for Weilong and the other man not to feel something similar.
After the reminder just now, Professor Fu quickly adjusted his approach.
And as Wen Li finally stepped forward after taking a deep breath at his instruction, a sorrowful air seemed to fill the room.
Professor Yang looked ready to sweep out of the room at any moment, but Weilong ultimately said nothing to stop him.
This joint consultation was rapidly becoming indescribable.
"Play it on repeat. Don't stop until I say so."
Professor Fu was even piling on the pressure, especially when he reminded Wen Li to make sure the treatment lasted long enough.
"Mm."
She didn't hesitate or ask questions. She merely nodded lightly, her gaze resting on the face that had yet to finish growing.
The body, which had been like a living corpse, suddenly shuddered.
Every face was different.
As the art therapy began, Fu Qian had already examined each of the faces beneath the target.
His conclusion was that they weren't the same type as those of the Larrea family.
Their features were clearly different. It wasn't a matter of finding one perfect face among countless flawed ones, but rather the feeling of having forgotten what one's own face looked like.
The faces seemed to be climbing, as he'd said earlier, and that wasn't a figure of speech. It was clear they retained a certain degree of vitality.
As they overlapped and interwove, they not only linked