The standoff was tense and protracted, with every second ticking by. The soldiers' nerves were taut, and the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder. They knew that any accidental discharge at this moment would escalate the localized conflict to a full-blown exchange of fire, making it difficult for either them or the two military districts to manage the aftermath.
Chichu Chun's condition was deteriorating to its worst point; her wounds were healing ever more slowly, and her consciousness was on the brink of collapsing into unconsciousness.
Her facial skin gradually turned pale, almost transparent, emitting a faint glow. A cocoon-like layer of white silk enveloped her body, her eyes half-closed, with all life signs reduced to the bare minimum, as if she had entered a hibernation-like state.
At this moment, she resembled a mirror etched with myriad tiny cracks, her life precariously teetering on the edge of shattering.
