Fu Zhen had just sent Ziyan to pick some flowers for a vase. Hearing this, she picked up a white porcelain plate: "How dark? How thin?"
Yang Tong gestured: "So thin that his eyes have sunken, and there's no flesh on his cheeks. As for being dark, well, he's almost like the bronze drum in our backyard training ground."
"Is that so?" Fu Zhen recalled the dark bronze drum and couldn't help but take out a handkerchief to wipe the white porcelain plate in her hand absentmindedly, "Did he get injured? How is his spirit?"
The guard from yesterday's skirmish said there weren't any serious injuries, just some scrapes on his hands and feet, but who knows?
"Supposedly not." Yang Tong shook her head, "Subordinate saw the General riding boldly, full of spirit, just like when he was marrying you, Young Madam! He carried such energy everywhere!
