When Song Ciwan's name was called, her heart instantly seized.
Everyone's gaze fell upon her in unison. The child in front of them was even more focused, staring intently at her.
The child had one hand behind his back, while the other was bent in front of him, his fingers twitching gently, almost idly.
The daylight was brilliant. The white goose in front of them cocked its head, its flat beak opening to let out a "CLUCK CLUCK CLUCK" sound.
Call the goose a chicken, and recite a poem to the "chicken."
It wasn't that Song Ciwan couldn't recite a poem about a chicken. Rather, a doubt suddenly bloomed in her mind: 'At this moment, is going along with the child's wishes—calling a goose a chicken—really the correct response?'
This Deceitful Realm was highly unusual; everything within it was bizarrely inverted.
