Standing amidst the crowd, Zhan Zhi'er gazed up at the young, high-spirited cultivator, her thoughts in turmoil. The man who had guided her into the sect and saved her from the Wei Family's battle arrays all those years ago was now her Martial Uncle.
She still remembered it with vivid clarity: the loneliness and helplessness she had felt as a child leaving the Zhan Family, as if she had been abandoned by the entire world with no path forward.
Consequently, she had firmly committed Fang Qingyuan's every word and action to memory. He was the first stranger, the first cultivator, to ever show her kindness.
He was also the only person who had helped her sincerely, asking for nothing in return.
A straw to a drowning person, a glimmer of light in the darkness—it was more than enough to make him unforgettable to Zhan Zhi'er.
