"Your actions are quite swift." Huaiqing glanced at the shielding device Que Zelian had borrowed.
"Can we talk now?" Que Zelian asked.
"Of course." Huaiqing's fingers moved away from the translucent glass cup.
He lowered his gaze slightly, recalling the prophecy, and said, "Your guess is correct. I am indeed lying to her."
"In the prophecy, I saw that we are neither a match for the Terminal nor for the Insect Clan."
"We will all die."
No matter whether the time foretold is half a month later at the hands of the Insect Clan, or five months later on the Terminal's dining table.
All of us are ultimately bound by death.
"Caicai can take her away, but she refused."
"However, the only path to survival at the moment is to let her leave the Mist Continent."
"But..." Huaiqing's gaze turned bewildered as he looked ahead, "Are you at ease letting her live alone in a strange interstellar world?"
