A cold wind howled, accompanied by the sound of bones shattering. It painted a scene of carnage amidst the swirling snow. A young man, wielding a sharp blade and possessing an alluring visage, stared down at the enemy sprawled on the ground. His eyes, as cold as autumn water, held no trace of emotion.,At that moment, a golden light shot down from the sky and struck Ye Qingtang who was falling.,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.。