That child, amidst this bitter winter, wore only a thin, long garment. Originally pure white, the shirt was now stained crimson by endless streams of water.,Ye Qingtang stood straight, her bare feet on the soft snow. Her soaked feet melted into the snow, and she tilted her head. Suddenly, she raised her sword, its jeweled tip pointed directly at the man in fine clothes surrounded by a crowd of people.,He was a handsome, breathtaking man, his white clothes fluttering in the wind. He stood motionless by Ye Qingtang's body, gazing at the gaping hole that had been ripped open, the faint breath slowly dissipating from the wound.。