The way home.
The carriage rolled along with the desolate autumn wind, crushing the increasingly barren wilderness.
Li Xuan lifted the curtain and saw the setting sun along the ancient road.
The darkened horizon was showing a suppressive hue, the heavy clouds dimming, and soon this world would be swallowed by night.
The Little Princess drowsily opened her eyes, her head nestled in Prince Qing's arms.
Prince Qing's bent arm served as her pillow, while his fingers wrapped around her neck, gently resting on her other shoulder.
Her beautiful eyes naturally revealed despair, and when reflecting the sunset, they displayed an indescribable poignant beauty.
This made Li Xuan can't help but feel like "the heroine of a cartoon suddenly appeared in a war disaster movie."
He lowered the curtain.
By now, the autumn wind was cold enough.
The Little Princess' fever had not subsided, and she surely could not endure even a bit more chill.
