The gentle breeze swept by, brushing against the woman's figure.
The hem of her black dress fluttered endlessly in the wind, like dark clouds drifting.
At this moment, Ran Qingchen resembled a lonely statue, silently standing at the edge of the cliff.
The woman gazed quietly into the void as the inky darkness of the horizon was gradually breached by a thread of pale white.
As the light expanded, the faint rays of dawn began spilling over the earth, like a thin veil, illuminating the tear streak on the woman's face with stark clarity.
Even a Shura could shed tears.
Perhaps, these tears proved she was not truly a Shura.
Ran Qingchen raised her arm, extending her hand toward the slowly brightening dawn, her slender fingers slightly parted, as if trying to grasp the rising sun.
The faint light streamed through her fingertips, leaving dappled patterns on her delicate skin.
