"Here."
With that single word, Ai Lun's head slowly drooped down, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Her voice, crystal clear, echoed in his ears.
"You... promise is... "
Before she could finish saying the word 'count', her arm fell limp.
"Ai Lun—Ai Lun—" Zhan Se's eyes widened as he dropped to his knees, vulnerable like a wounded child, tears streaming down his face!
Ai Lun did not respond to her; she had lost consciousness.
Her blood stained Iron Hand's clothes. In the night breeze, countless words choked in the man's throat, accumulating there, yet when it came time to speak, he found himself speechless.
Sobbing uncontrollably, Zhan Se, unwilling to accept it, reached out to check Ai Lun's breath, then, crying loudly, cradled her blood-soaked face in her hands.
"Ai Lun, wake up! Please, wake up."
A large hand rested on her shoulder, strong and steady. The voice from above her head was devoid of any emotion.
"Zhan Xiaoyao, stop crying!"