In the land of exile, the piercing northern wind was like a dagger.
The dilapidated hut could not withstand the harsh northern cold. Every late night, frost would seep through the cracks, condensing into tiny ice crystals on the bedding.
"Father."
"Father, wake up, wake up."
The desperate cries beside his ear were incessant.
Ying Yi awakened, seeing Ying Fuyan kneeling by his bed.
Ying Fuyan now looked nothing more than a teenager.
He had suffered considerably; his frame was thin, his face dirty and disheveled.
How was he still alive?
Wasn't he dead?
After dying, he watched as Yan was tortured worse than death itself, living each day like a year, trampled by anyone.
He also saw Wei Fengyuan risking everything to take him away...
And watched as Yan ascended the throne, only to die in the sixth year.
But...
Without much time to think, Ying Yi already lifted his hand to touch Ying Fuyan's face.
Yet, he touched his face full of tears.
