The light beside her wasn't very obvious.
It flickered on and off, and Mu Xingzhi's grip on her hand tightened.
With just a tilt of her head, she could see Ye Shaohua resting her arm on the iron railing beside her, tilting her head and smiling warmly at him.
Mu Xingzhi was obviously still somewhat nervous.
Ye Shaohua leaned back, propping her hand against the railing behind her, her eyes half-closed: "Of course."
Her entire first half of life was lived for others.
Her surname was Ye; she was Ye Shaohua.
"I have been young and not let Shaohua down."
When she had still understood almost nothing, a mountain named South Island had weighed heavily upon her.
In fact, at the beginning, that wasn't her name.
The final meticulously planned poison, a calculating explosion, had thoroughly extinguished all her lingering attachment to this place.
Ye Shaohua was Ye Shaohua, even though she was akin to a deity, she was still just a person.