Just the sight of Jiang Chen bleeding on the Sacred Mountain had been enough to make her heart tear apart.
She would faint from the pain, her whole body curling up.
"Without my brother, there's no one left to stay by my side..." The little girl, Houtu, woke again in the same ruined temple.
Her tender, tiny arms clutched her knees, drawn up against her chest.
The damp strands of hair on her cheeks had clumped together, sticking tightly to her muddy face, where her skin was still visibly fair.
Alone, facing the silent ruin of a temple, she had no one left to stay with her.
Even the brother who loved her most was dead.
Jiang Chen's shadow lived on in her dreams, again and again.
But the ending was always the same: he died over and over.
Houtu had almost forgotten who she really was.
She had forgotten that she was a Quasi-Saint, one of the most powerful beings in all creation!
Blood had soaked Jiang Chen's body an unknown number of times.
An unknown number of times, she had chased after him through the rain, trying to catch that retreating figure.
"Why couldn't he stay alive? Why couldn't he keep living? Why couldn't he come back?!"
Houtu kept asking herself, over and over. Those were her purest thoughts, without any hidden meaning.
She simply wanted Jiang Chen to come back, so he could stay with her.
But on the bloodstained clothes, there were only a few brief, hastily written words:
"I just can't stop worrying about my little sister..."
Houtu curled into a ball, her whole being sinking into deathly stillness, unwilling to live again.
She had seen that scene hundreds of times in her dreams. Hundreds of times, she had searched for a chance to save