Seeing Zhao Changhe seated cross-legged in the river, immersed in silent meditation and seeking insight, Piaomiao rested her cheek on her hand and quietly watched the handsome profile of the man beside her. The longer she looked, the more she found him pleasing to the eye, so much so that even the faint flicker of irritation within her had become too trivial to bother with.0

That irritation stemmed from the nature of Zhao Changhe’s cultivation, both in its trajectory and the aura he now emanated. It was far too reminiscent of the Night Emperor. It was as if he were carved from the same mold, a masculine incarnation of her.0

This only made sense, of course; after all, he was meant to be the Night Emperor of the following era. He had already claimed the Four Idols for himself, so such a resemblance was only natural. Her displeasure was really just residual resentment toward Ye Wuming, the original Night Emperor, and Zhao Changhe was merely collateral damage, a victim by association.0

In fact, looking at it from another angle, if Zhao Changhe had stolen the Four Idols, did that not in itself count as a kind of vengeance?0

That thought cleared the rest of her irritation entirely. She should be supporting him with all her might! Yes, she would even help him deal with the ancient White Tiger next and strip away every last trace of what once belonged to the ancient Night Emperor, down to the last piece.0

Still, she wondered what exactly Zhao Changhe was seeing while in the middle of meditation right now. This path was far beyond her, and it was not something she could lend a helping hand in.0

In truth, Zhao Changhe saw nothing at all.0

He thought back to that moment from his dream—the one where he and Piaomiao had been entangled in the river. That vision had come to him after they had purged their inner demons through that act, drifting off into sleep. At the time, he...0