Upon the hill behind, Qing Yi fluttered like willows, gently brushing past.
The woman sat cross-legged, eyes gently closed, as her black hair waved in the breeze, lightly brushing across her face.
As if hearing the footsteps coming from down the hill, she slowly opened her eyes, her gaze falling on Nangong Zilan approaching from below, a flicker in her expression, "Zilan, is there something you need?"
Hearing this voice tinged with the vicissitudes of life, Nangong Zilan's heart ached.
She knew her master was a person with a story, yet she never wished to speak of her past, though people with bright eyes like hers usually had lively personalities.
However, Nangong Zilan felt a kind of vicissitude from her that ordinary people lacked.
It seemed as though only after experiencing too many vicissitudes could one develop the character she had now...
