Zi Wei slightly raised her eyes. Her pale and exquisite face bore a pair of profound eyes, which swept across the tens of thousands of people gathered hundreds of meters away. Every single person there stared intently at Yi Bu, with an almost greedy gaze.,The child's gaze swept over those faces one by one, the corner of his mouth suddenly lifting into a wickedly playful curve. He raised his hand, his fingertip wiping away a drop of heat from the corner, staining that originally pale piece with a touch of eerie red.,The melodious, low voice was ripped apart by the raging wind. The man slowly crouched down, his long and handsome fingers reaching towards the gushing wound. wisps of breath constantly flowed from Ye Qingtang's wound, dotting the man's palm, condensing into a half-bright heart.。