Sure enough, expressing goodwill also requires technique and method.
In this much more pleasant greeting, even though the scarred bride was unabashedly displaying more of her surface area, Fu Qian still turned his head to look elsewhere.
The voice matched its owner; it belonged to an elderly woman who appeared kind and amiable.
Small in stature, she sat on a chair in the corner. Although most of her hair was already white, it was neatly combed together, and she was earnestly looking over at that moment.
Hilary was indeed correct; someone had indeed seen this ailment-ridden outsider.
And it was even more than just that. Through the window, which was only slightly bigger than a ventilation hatch, it was confirmed that it was indeed night outside, with a pitch-black sky devoid of stars.
What else did Hilary say?
Never walk into that darkness?
"What are you thinking of doing? Do not have any strange ideas."
