The carriage fell into an eerie silence. Heqing sat there, listening to the intermittent moaning of Chen Qiang, suppressed and desperate. At last, moved by pity, she quietly crouched down and pressed her fingertips against his back.
Her fingertips were cool, but Chen Qiang's body was ice-cold all over. Pain occupied his entire mind; his body was stiff, taut to the extreme.
At this moment, his shoulder felt the touch of Heqing's fingertips, but he didn't notice it in the slightest.
Powerlessly, he lay there, occasionally catching a glimpse of Ma Zhentao sitting beside him, leisurely and composed, which sparked waves of anger and despair in his heart.
The very disciple he had mentored with his own hands… How could it have come to this?
—But who could he blame?
In his agonizing haze, he thought to himself, eventually sighing one word— "Fate!"
