The north wind howled, snowflakes swirling.
Ah Jiu tossed and turned on the bed, unable to sleep.
"Can't sleep?" Wufu's hand reached over, interlocking fingers with his.
"Did I disturb you?" Ah Jiu turned his head to look, seeing Wufu lying sideways facing him.
Wufu said, "No, I haven't slept either." After a pause, she added, "Still thinking about what we considered earlier today?"
Ah Jiu pondered for a moment, then replied, "What do you think the likelihood is?"
Killing one's own child—it was inconceivable even to hear.
There have been tales of emperors killing their children, but only when the child was treacherous or committed an unforgivable act did they resort to such measures.
Yet, little Qinger was not even three years old. If Emperor Yan truly spared no mercy even for a three-year-old, then his actions could indeed be described as brutally savage, especially since Qinger was his legitimate son.
Whenever Ah Jiu thought of this possibility, he shivered.
