His life was gone.

Or maybe he was long gone, and the mind and soul that barely existed in him were rising and dispersing, just like the white breath that slowly overflowed from the wound in his abdomen that he had sewn up.

Xuanshu silently looked at the body of the young man who still had a breath but was slowly beginning to corrode. The black-clad man stood beside him with wide sleeves and watched as well.

Nangong Ming stood in front of them with his back bowed and did not move for a long time. He already knew that it was in his blood, and that creation always made people.

After a long time, he turned around, glanced at them coldly with red eyes, and asked in a deep voice, "Is there nothing you can do?"

He shook his head helplessly.

"You didn't save him once with a witch cup, no

"The Great Song of the Mortal Kings" 26 Xuanshu: Dedication is in the middle of the hand, please wait a moment,

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