"Earlier I saw online, Wu Qingyun practiced swordsmanship until she became silly, lost her emotions, and only had swordsmanship left in her heart.
"I thought that was nonsense.
"Why does it seem true now?"
Suddenly, a voice in the crowd couldn't bear it anymore.
"Wu Qingyun! What are you doing? Don't you have empathy? So many people have died, and you're still thinking about practicing swordsmanship? Don't you feel bad?"
In the dead end, next to the pile of corpses, the girl turned her head.
Inside the bronze helmet, her delicate face still had no expression. Her brows and eyes were even dull.
She looked at the crowd.
"What is there to feel bad about?
"I'm not feeling bad."
Her expression was too calm, seeming truly unaffected.
Yet everyone clearly saw tears flowing down from the corners of her eyes, sliding over her cheeks, sliding over her delicate jawline.
Her face appeared cold, but the tears were warm.
