In the dungeon.
Old Two watched He Jinqiu's imposing presence, endless fear welling up in his heart.
But the problem was, He Jinqiu was also an A-rank. Why was he afraid of him?
Old Two did not know why either, but he was simply afraid.
He slowly backed away. "Old Five was the one who captured you. I came to let you out... Do you want me to bandage your wounds?"
He Jinqiu raised both hands, silently looked at the wounds on his wrists, then smiled. "I don't need my hands to kill people anyway."
There were many choices and sacrifices in life.
Zhang Mengqian had given up his mechanical eye and brain, embarking on a longer path in life. He had risen step by step along that road, all for the day he could, like Master Li Shutong, sweep away all life's disappointments with a single breath of cloud.
Qing Zhun had given up his limited life for a love, and for his younger brother.
The choices and sacrifices in life always brought a touch of sorrow, like standing at a fork in the road. In the end, you chose left or right without looking back, thereby bidding farewell to another kind of life.
And now, He Jinqiu had given up both hands. He had come back and stood in this dungeon—for what?
It seemed to be for Qing Chen, who had twice put himself in danger for him.
No, actually, he was doing it for himself.
For the self who had once spoken of his own life by the Bai Li River.
He had trudged through mud there and been drenched by torrential rain.
More than ten years later, when he looked back, the past still seemed right before his eyes.
He had thought he had forgotten.
But