"Wutong?"
Qian Renxue felt as though she had been played. How many did that make now? Qiu'er, Xue'er, Liya, Zhu Zhuqing, and herself—and now a Wutong had appeared too. And he claimed he wasn't a womanizer?!
"Mm. Wutong. She was probably Yuhao's wife—or at least the woman he had once truly wanted to marry."
Zhu Zhuqing had never been able to throw away that necklace, even after it was damaged. She took it out and studied it whenever she thought of it. Eventually, she found words Huo Yuhao had left inside its broken casing. The characters were tiny, almost invisible among the intricate lines of the formation.
"'To my wife Wutong: Do not dwell on me or miss me. If you are safe, I am at peace.'" Zhu Zhuqing's voice was hoarse.
"..." Qian Renxue fell silent.
She understood what Zhu Zhuqing meant. Red Dust Blessing could save its wearer's life by swapping their place with its maker. Alongside absolute confidence in his own strength, those words revealed something else: Huo Yuhao had been willing to die in Wutong's place.
But what had happened afterward? Why had he never given her the necklace? How had Huo Yuhao's wife gone from Wutong to Xue'er? And what of Qiu'er, whom he held so dear, or Liya, who had stayed by his side longer than almost anyone?
And was this really the romantic history of a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy?
A thought suddenly struck Qian Renxue. The Qian Clan had records of Divine Descent. What if he was a god descended to this world?
That would explain his strange Soul Rings and his bizarre abilities. It would also explain his many long, tangled romantic entanglements.
The thought made Qian Renxue restless. Looking at Zhu Zhuqing, who still knew nothing, she wanted to shake