"Yi'er..."
Seeing that woman again, Chen Yi was very calm.
Calmer than he had imagined himself to be.
Has the hatred faded...?
The hatred remained intense, settling down, settling into the calluses on his fingertips, which were also the accumulation of swordsmanship.
The vivid memories of the past had transformed into blocks of yellow and red, blurred all around, except for the central figure with a frayed edge, still clear, right in front of his eyes.
Perhaps one day, that long-settled hatred would erupt and flood the sky,
Or perhaps, it would be today.
Chen Yi curled the corners of his mouth, intending to say "Please leave," but as his facial muscles twitched, his brows furrowed into an angry glare.
This expression could not utter polite words, so Chen Yi slowly enunciated:
"It's you."
"…Yi'er."
