Early in the morning, the heavy fog lingered, not yet dispersed.
Under the eaves, Le Congsheng crouched, tightly holding Tang Baiwei's small hand, breathing warmth onto it to chase away the chill, providing her with endless comfort.
At this moment, Tang Baiwei sat in a wrought-iron wheelchair, her cheeks flushed, obediently feeling the warmth from Le Congsheng.
"Sheng, you mustn't lose your reason and be filled with anger because of me," she urged. "If you can't withstand Xiao Youjun in the upcoming arena battle, then let's temporarily yield. Preserve yourself and wait for the right moment!"
Hearing Tang Baiwei, still considering his well-being and advising him not to lose his senses despite her severe injuries, Le Congsheng felt the raging flame in his heart burn even more intensely.
"Mm, I understand. Don't worry," Le Congsheng said, his eyes crinkling into a smile as he tenderly comforted Tang Baiwei.
