Qing'an lifted the wine jar, tilting it downwards, allowing the wine to flow onto the peach-scented black skin book.
Green flames ignited and quickly reduced the book to ashes.
He threw his head back, pouring the remaining wine down his throat. When there was nothing left inside, he casually tossed the jar aside, and with a "crack," it shattered on the ground.
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, his steps slightly unsteady, and his gaze reflected a sense of blissful bewilderment.
Life is like a dream. Before sealing himself here, he followed Wei Zhengdao, experiencing the highest peak in his heart.
Now, as he approaches complete dissolution, he can once again revisit the familiarity of those years by sheer coincidence.
As if the long agony and torment in between also presented some sort of reality.
The young man before him had a strong shadow of Wei Zhengdao on him, yet he was not Wei Zhengdao.
As for Zhao Yi...
