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“It’s already been four days since we made the agreement to meet in a month.” Ye Jiuyou sat with her eyes closed, seemingly in meditation, yet her lips curled into a teasing remark. “There’s still no sign of Zhao Changhe anywhere near Kunlun… Has he given up?”
Piaomiao’s brow furrowed. “Why are you so talkative all of a sudden? You’ve barely had a moment of silence in days. You weren’t like this before.”
“I’m talking for little Cui Yuanyang’s sake. Whether you listen or not is none of my concern.” Ye Jiuyou chuckled. “Ask Yangyang herself. After being stuck here for so many days, wouldn’t she appreciate some conversation?”
Piaomiao snorted. “…I can speak with her myself.”
“Alright, alright,” Ye Jiuyou said with amusement. “I was just being considerate, trying to find a topic for you two. Otherwise, with your personality, you’d stay silent for another eight hundred years.”
Piaomiao ignored her and instead whispered to Cui Yuanyang, “Yangyang, your husband is nothing but a scoundrel.”
Cui Yuanyang sat curled up in a corner of her sea of consciousness, hugging her knees, looking pitiful. “Yangyang...
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