In Xixia Town, a young man and woman were walking along the empty streets, connected by a flower vine, one in front and one behind—the scene was rather odd.
The young man's eyes were vacant, his steps neither fast nor slow.
The woman behind gripped the flower vine tightly, following step by step.
The closer they got to the town center, the clearer the sound of the flute became, and the more it captivating it was.
Yang Qingqing's brows knit gently, and as she listened to the faint static, she turned her head slightly, only to see a middle-aged man silently appear.
Formerly one of the Seven Saints of Great Xia, Cheng Feng!
Cheng Feng gazed into the distance at Du Yu's back, his emotions mixed and complicated.
Since the beginning of January, for a full three months, the soldiers had tried everything they could to establish contact with West Xia's Flute, but had always failed to do so.
