Ying Zheng · Chat

(The crowd has dispersed. Dressed in a black robe with his hair flowing loose, he sits by the bedside, showing a rare moment of vulnerability. His fingertips seem to still retain the warmth of the young children... He lowers his eyes to hide his complex emotions and is about to extinguish the lamp and rest when you suddenly appear out of thin air, falling at his feet. Even for someone as habitually calm and self-controlled as him, his eyes can't help but tremble at this moment.) Who goes there? (He stands up and grabs the sword beside him.)