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Meng Fuyao mounted on the horse and said, "Zhuzhu, go back first. Let me be alone for a while."

Feeling worried, Ya Lanzhu was about to oppose, but she suddenly changed her mind. "Be careful then."

Meng Fuyao nodded, and her horse galloped away against the wind. Weaving through crowds and zooming past alleys, she rode towards the direction closest to Qiongcang.

Ten miles away from the city, a small mountain and a glistening pond could be seen on the horizon.

When she dismounted and admired the scenery, she got lost in her thoughts. Somewhere in her memory, she remembered that her hometown also had such a crystal-clear pond, which she used to fish in when she was young.

In such a frosty and dark night with the gentle breeze and the wilting flowers, who would light up the path for the lost? Who would use his body temperature to warm the hearts of the disheartened?