Ye Qingtang stood straight, her bare feet on the soft snow. Her soaked feet melted into the snow, and she tilted her head. Suddenly, she raised her sword, its jeweled tip pointed directly at the man in fine clothes surrounded by a crowd of people.,Ye Qingtang slowly closed her eyes, looking back on her life, filled with countless regrets.,He was a handsome, breathtaking man, his white clothes fluttering in the wind. He stood motionless by Ye Qingtang's body, gazing at the gaping hole that had been ripped open, the faint breath slowly dissipating from the wound.。