After that gaze vanished, the White Bone Wasteland fell quiet again.
Yun Qing still stood where he was, his hand resting over his chest.
His heartbeat had gradually returned to normal, but that inexplicable aching tightness from a moment ago still refused to fade.
It was strange, as though a piece of his heart had suddenly gone missing.
Yun Qing lowered his head, his brows drawing together slightly. He rarely allowed himself to sink into such meaningless turmoil, such soft, tangled emotions.
In his previous life, Qing Yun had always been like a blade of wild grass. Even pressed into a crack in the rocks, he would fight with all his might to grow upward.
Then, across two lifetimes, Yun Qing had been born into the Yun Clan and gained blood relatives and siblings. He came to feel that being grass was no longer enough. He had to grow into a tree.
A towering tree with flourishing branches and leaves. He persevered at every step, always growing toward the sun, taking it upon himself to hold up the entire Yun Clan of immortals.
Yun Qing pondered long and hard without finding an answer. In the end, he could only let out a soft breath.
"Who was it..." Who could have disturbed the lake of his heart so deeply?
Everything around him was quiet. No one answered.
Fortunately, Yun Qing did not have to wrestle with those feelings alone for very long. A thoroughly mood-shattering commotion was rising in the distance.
"Eldest Brother-I'm back!"
"Jinglei, don't run so fast!"
"Who stepped on my hem?"
"Not me."
"Yun Poxiao!"
"It really wasn't me!"
Yun Qing: "..."
Wonderful. All that mourning spring and grieving autumn, all that inexplicable melancholy-gone.
At the far end of the wasteland, a noisy chorus of lively young voices