Clouds and Mist Manor

In Feng Linglong's eyes, the youth before her was like a little mountain stream.

At most, it had merely burst its banks in a flash flood. No matter how fierce the flood, it could never overflow a mighty river.

And she was that mighty river, able to hold—and even swallow—countless streams flowing down the mountains.

Wang Xian did not draw his sword. He did not want to throw himself into Feng Linglong's surging river.

So he found the woman before him a place to land, turned into a breeze, and headed beyond the imperial city.

When they opened their eyes again, not only Wang Xian but even Feng Linglong was stunned. Together, they let out a sigh.

A look of disbelief even appeared in Wang Xian's eyes.

They had actually arrived at Clouds and Mist Manor outside the city. The place before them was wrapped in silver, with snowflakes swirling everywhere.

Looking at the ruined walls buried beneath the wind and snow, and at the snow-covered lake before her, shivering in the storm, Feng Linglong flew into a rage.

This had once been the home she had spent more than a decade of painstaking effort building. She never imagined that the seemingly harmless youth before her would destroy it with his own hands.

Even if she cut Wang Xian into a thousand pieces, it would not ease her hatred.

Unlike Feng Linglong, Wang Xian's cheeks were somewhat pale, but his expression remained as calm as it had been atop the imperial city.

In his eyes, there was no right or wrong in this world to begin with.

The Qingyi Tower assassins were in the wrong for pursuing Hu Keke to Moon City, and for trying to kill him as well while they were hunting her.

He was afraid of dying.