"H-...Haoran..."
Qian Yunxi cried as she immediately threw herself and hugged Haoran and buried her face into his chest.
The last fragile remnants of her proud composure as the Holy Maiden of the Spirit Hall shattered entirely.
She did not care about the dried blood clinging to her skin, the shattered bone in her left forearm, or the tattered remnants of her battle tunic.
She clung to him with the desperate, white-knuckled grip of a drowning traveler reaching the shore, her trembling fingers curling deeply into the luxurious black and gold dragon silk draped over his ribs.
Hot, heavy tears soaked through the embroidered fabric, washing away the caked grime, her entire body shuddering with violent, gasping sobs that tore from the depths of her bruised throat.
Haoran paused for a second.
