The hissing of the steam vanished.
Returning so many times just for him...
Who is Him?
The words did not make logical sense.
Ji'an was 17 years old.
She was a mortal chef who had recently ascended.
But when those words left Yan Zhaoge's lips and entered Xie Wangchen's ears, they did not register as a drunken ramble.
They registered as a reality-shattering systemic failure within his own immortal soul.
It felt as though a rusted iron spike had been violently driven directly through the center of his chest.
His breath left him in a sudden, agonizing gasp.
His vision swam, the aura surrounding him fluctuated wildly, completely collapsing in on itself.
Returning...
He didn't understand the word. He didn't possess the memories.
But his soul did.
Deep, deep within the buried, sealed archives of his spiritual core, a phantom resonance flared. It was an emotion so devastatingly agonizing, so overwhelmingly saturated in guilt and failure that it physically buckled his knees.
