"..."
All this time, Luoqi quietly listened to the princess's cries of venting, and at that moment, she too was at a loss for words.
She just silently tightened her grip on the Holy Sword, though she said nothing, her heart was in turmoil.
Even if she didn't experience it herself, just listening to the princess's cries, listening to that deeper hatred than grief, she could feel how much this ancestor was suffering.
Hatred born of love was no longer enough to describe her.
She suffered from love, grew wicked from love.
Her love, though extremely heavy, was also deeply memorable.
Perhaps, to others, she fell to this point entirely as a result of extremity, but Luoqi could understand.
It was because she knew love, understood love, realized love, that she grasped how desperate an unachievable love could be for a woman.
Forty years of striving with all her might.
A thousand years of deep love mingled with hatred.
