Du Yunluo stammered, repeating the latter part over and over, insisting she did nothing wrong.
Mu Lianxiao's heart ached intensely, as if the pressure in his hand was also gripping his heart.
He was a soldier; he had fought in battles, stained with blood, and killed people. That was the battlefield; if you didn't kill the enemy, you would be killed.
Growing up in a military family, Mu Lianxiao had never been afraid of this, not even when he first knocked an enemy off his horse.
There was no time to be afraid, no room for fear, as enemy soldiers charged at him from all sides, instinctively swinging his spear before he was fully conscious.
When cleaning up the battlefield, the desolate scene brought him only sorrow, not fear.
These were common occurrences for him, but for Du Yunluo, it was entirely different.
