The captain immediately elbowed him.
The younger guard made a pain-filled face and shut his mouth, but Bai Lingling had already heard it.
Her lips curved slightly.
Then she looked at them all again, and this time the feeling in her chest became even stranger.
Because they had not done this for obligation.
They had not done it because they were forced.
They had done it because they cared.
The realization made Bai Lingling's heart feel unexpectedly warm.
In her past life, after her master died, she had simply gone on living because living was what one did. She cultivated alone, ate alone, and even when she won or lost or suffered or improved, there was no one standing around her with trays and singing badly in the morning.
Yet now, in this body, in this courtyard, these people were standing at her door looking at her with bright faces as if her birthday was something worth remembering.
That feeling was very soft.
And also very dangerous.
