"It was my failure to protect them..."
The woman's— or rather, Qing He's— tearful tone was moving, yet now she was unable to shed a single tear.
For in saving Qing He's life, Ling Guzi's modifications were far from superficial— it wasn't just a mechanical lung, or some mechanical prosthetics.
In truth, Qiwa had been right all along.
Qing He was now, in essence, half a Bronze Beast— a Bronze Beast of flesh and blood.
Her greatest distinction from those Bronze Beasts was that Qing He still retained her own will.
But the commonalities of life— to shed tears, to feel weariness— these were slowly vanishing from her.
"You've already done incredibly well— no one would blame you."
Step by step, Qiwa made his way to Qing He's side. Rarely did he attempt to comfort another.
For just by looking at those looming stitches on Qing He's body, Qiwa could easily imagine what edge of death she'd clawed her way back from.
