On the eve of dawn, strands of morning light illuminated the desolate world.
Accompanied by a world-shattering dragon roar, a blood-red ancient dragon fell to the ground, exploding into a myriad of scattered mandala petals, reminiscent of the miraculous feat once performed by that wicked woman, causing time and space to violently shake.
Following it was a pitch-black Qilin, whose majestic and stern body dissipated like mist, and from the black fog emerged a faint, slender figure, staggering as if about to fall at any moment.
At this moment, two figures swiftly arrived, supporting him from both sides.
"Are you okay?"
They said in unison.
Tang Ling lifted her solemn gaze, silently observing the stranger's yet familiar face. Her delicate yet cold face appeared snow-white under the morning light, and those eyes were like transparent ice.
She had seen this face before, in Xiao Gu's home.
