Leng Youchen sighed deeply, "In the world, there are so many women, but only she is my destiny. Rong Ling, you shouldn't have touched her."
Rong Ling grew increasingly frail, his complexion turning from pale to ashen. With his last breath, he said, "Third Young Master, she isn't truly sincere toward you, you, you..."
Before he could finish, he coughed up a mouthful of blood, his eyes wide open, dying with a tragic look of unwillingness.
Leng Youchen seemed oblivious to his passing. After a long silence, he finally spoke, "Rong Ling, you overestimated me—I am not a god. I am just a person with emotions and desires."
Rong Ling committed so many mistakes entirely because of him; he couldn't blame him for betrayal, for he was the most loyal, just to the wrong cause.
Gently, he laid him on the ground, his large hand sweeping over his open eyes, and he had closed them. Standing up, his voice carried a hint of fatigue and grief, "Lu Feng, have him sent for cremation."
