The cold air seemed to freeze over.
Xiaotao frantically pinched Zheng Xiu's waist from behind, trying to warn him not to speak so recklessly.
She was clearly unaware of the delicate nature of Xie Luohe and Zheng Xiu's relationship—that they were in a strange, sullen standoff.
Xie Luohe wasn't angry. She smiled and countered, "What is righteous, and what is evil?"
Zheng Xiu shook his head and replied calmly, "There is no answer to that question. All one can do is strive for a clear conscience."
"Well said." Xie Luohe flicked her reins, and her horse's hooves clattered out of the teahouse. Her indifferent voice drifted back. "Between her and me, only one can live. I hope that one day, you can truly awaken her. And when I am dead, you can still say those three words: 'a clear conscience.'"
Xie Luohe's figure gradually receded into the distance. Her long hair, caught by the wind, swirled like a deep, bottomless black vortex.
