Qian turned her head on the white pillow, staring blankly at Brand as he shed tears. The room was silent.
disha did not speak, Furlo was silent, and Char just watched Brand.
Antitina looked around, finally, she suspiciously looked at her Lord. She hadn't experienced the dark underground of Shafelund, nor did she have disha's keen insight—naturally, she didn't understand what Brand ant to Qian at this mont. But even a fool could see the girl's attachnt to Brand, which made her ponder.
Brand walked closer and stood by Qian's bedside. The girl finally restrained her weakness, she cald down and weakly forced a smile through her tears at Brand—that smile was sweet but fragile, as if carved on a pale, thin paper, ready to shatter at any mont.
"You're back... my Lord." Qian began, she hadn't eaten anything for days, relying mainly on water to sustain her life. The girl was so weak she could barely make a sound and described it with her lips.
"I'm back." Seeing Qian in such a state made Brand uncomfortable, he replied softly.
"How was the work in Shafelund?" Qian looked at him silently.
Brand smiled slightly, not answering.
"Did you co back to see , my Lord?" The doubt in Qian's eyes expressed her question, and Brand saw a glimr of hesitant expectation in her amber-like eyes—he nodded.
Qian blinked forcefully.
But she sniffed and lay back down. The girl's chest rose and fell slightly, and she occasionally furrowed her brows, as if just lying down brought her imnse pain—no one dared to speak, so the room was so silent that one could hear a pin drop.
"Can I survive?"
The red-haired girl turned her head to the other side, staring blankly at the lush branches of the red tree outside the window, asking softly.
Brand hesitated for a mont, then nodded.
"The truth?"
"When have I ever lied?" Brand replied.
Qian was stunned for a while, "But I feel... my Lord is lying to !" The red-haired girl said softly with a woman's sensitivity, her almost coquettish tone softened everyone's hearts.
No one thought that such a stubborn girl would also be so weak, as if the pain over the days had completely shattered the strength she had long supported alone.
Brand did not answer.
In fact, no one had the ability to answer this question, the room was silent.
"Actually..." Qian looked at the dark green leaves on the branches of the red tree, the sunlight seemingly imprinted its veins clearly, "I heard your... conversations..."
She took a breath: "Unrealistic, ...forget it, even I feel... it's unnecessary." The girl smiled alone.
If Macaro were here, he would certainly realize he never carefully observed his adopted daughter's smile before—sweet and serene like an Angel.
"Qian!"
Antitina interrupted her, stepping forward sowhat angrily: "What are you talking about!" This usually quiet girl didn't continue, Qian's words made her uncomfortable.
But Brand waved his hand to her, he looked at Qian and made a decision in his heart. The young Lord slightly raised his head, asking softly: "Qian, do you have any wishes left?"
Everyone froze.
Even Qian froze slightly.
Despite her stubborn words, she did not want to leave. Otherwise, she wouldn't have persisted, gritting her teeth through it—even though every day felt like torture in Hell, she still waited for the young Lord to co back.
Because he had told her, he would take her with him, no matter what, he would not leave her behind.
This simple promise touched her heart.
She stared blankly at Brand, feeling almost overwheld with sorrow. Everyone deceived her like this, telling her it was possible, but the final answer was always unattainable. It was the sa in the past, and it remained the sa now.
Qian wondered if she was too greedy, always expecting things beyond others' abilities, but she had given her genuine emotions, only to get a return that felt like a knife stabbing her chest in pain.
The red-haired girl looked at Brand, tears welling in her eyes. She sniffed hard and said in a difficult, low voice:
"My Lord..."
Qian paused, taking a breath to adjust her emotions, she tried to speak three tis, but only on the last attempt did she choke out: "In my hotown, there's a tradition..."
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