Wen Nanxi's voice was hoarse like sandpaper scraping, each word seemed to be squeezed out of his throat, carrying a trembling even he hadn't noticed.
His gaze locked onto the figure in front of him, his pupils slightly contracting from exertion, yet the scene began to shake uncontrollably, as if it were the countless illusions that appeared when he was in a coma.
Even though Nanxi was awake, his body remained extremely weak.
Yet he seemed to muster all his strength to look.
He gazed deeply at Su Muyao, as if wanting to engrave her appearance into his very bones, never to forget.
His eyes, once gentle as a painting, now tinged with crimson, the glance trembling slightly, carrying profound longing.
He stared unblinkingly at Su Muyao, even if it felt like an illusion, he wanted to take a good look at her.
During this time, he was trapped here, had to feign cooperation with Nan Feng, and prevent him from harming Ayao.
