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Qing Ling descended to Gao Yang’s side on her Tang Dao. She wore a brown coat with horn buttons, her hands in her pockets, and her almost shoulder-length black hair tickling the cheeks of her impassive face.
“It’s cold outside,” Qing Ling said.
“Cold is good,” Gao Yang responded. “I have been feeling stuffy since waking up.”
“Your injury hasn’t recovered.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not just talking about your physical injury,” Qing Ling added.
Gao Yang said after a pause, “And you?”
“I’m not injured,” Qing Ling said, then huffed out defiantly, “I’ve been getting stronger.”
“True,” Gao Yang agreed with a faint smile.
Qing Ling...
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