Translator: Aran

  In the self-isolation quiet room.

  Ye Qingyu was sitting cross-legged.

  As if dead sitting, his eyes were tightly closed, his lips were slightly curled up into a smile, and his brows were drooping to his eyes, all in a natural posture which resembled that of an ice statue. There was no sign of aura, inner yuan, or vitality on his body, and even his usually-ruddy complexion was gradually paling. As time went by, his skin was also gradually becoming gray a..