Zhi’er heard the desolation in her father’s tone.
She quickly crawled over with her little hands and feet and found a comfortable position in Bai Xilie’s arms, curling up like a kitten.
The little one said in a sweet, childish voice, "Daddy, being with you makes every day so happy! Being with Mommy feels different."
Bai Xilie looked down at his daughter’s soft little face and couldn’t help but smile.
"Daddy knows Zhi’er is amazing; no matter what happens, she has her own insights. It’s Daddy who’s not much help."
He often wanted to give his daughter complete protection, but Bai Xilie realized he didn’t seem to be able to do much for her.
Instead, the little one was always comforting him, giving him a steady sense of happiness as a father.
Bai Xilie sighed heavily again.
Zhi’er blinked her watery big eyes, looking somewhat bewildered and innocent.
Oh dear, is Daddy feeling a bit defeated now?
The little one’s shiny black eyes shifted, and she quickly said softly, "Daddy will have the Imperial Kitchen prepare lots of delicious food for Zhi’er! When with Mommy, I can’t eat so many delicacies."
Upon hearing this, Bai Xilie hurriedly asked, "What do you and your mom usually eat, congee and greens?"
The thought of his wife and daughter suffering, possibly sharing a single bun in the dead of winter.
Bai Xilie hated himself more for not finding them sooner.
Jing Jia must have wanted to prevent their daughter from suffering with her, so she sent the little one back to him early.
At least, Bai Xilie could ensure that Zhi’er would always be a Princess in fine clothes and rich food.
The little one blinked her big eyes and replied, "Mommy takes Zhi’er to drink the wind and eat Flower Dew!"
As she spoke, Zhi’er said, "~ ah~"
She opened her mouth, mimicking the motion of eating wind.
Finally, after taking a bite of air, the little one wiped her mouth and imitated Jing Jia’s tone, asking, "Baby, are you full?"
Her actions and tone thoroughly amused Bai Xilie and dispelled a bit of his frustration.
"Eating wind? Your mom really lets you do that!" He hugged his daughter tightly, feeling sorry for her.
However, he pinched Zhi’er’s chubby little arm, realizing that Jing Jia didn’t seem to have treated the child poorly.
Bai Xilie, with deep eyes, said in a low, melodious voice, "When your mom returns, Daddy will punish her for you."
Zhi’er blinked and seemed a little confused about what punishment meant.
Will Daddy hit Mommy?
Will Mommy then punch Daddy back and send him flying!
Zhi’er hugged Bai Xilie’s arm and acted spoiled, "Daddy, listen to your baby, let’s not do such dangerous things~ When Mommy returns, we’ll love her well~"
Bai Xilie laughed heartily, his eyes soft and gentle.
"Okay, when the three of us are reunited, Daddy’s lifelong wish will be fulfilled."
In the mountains of the suburb, the snow that had not fully thawed blanketed a shallow layer.
Blood dripped from the treetops, and dismembered and scattered bandits lay on the ground.
Feng Fuce strolled among them, in a scene akin to hell or Purgatory; his gaze was lazy and leisurely, as if he were in his own garden.
A group of Xiu Luo Envoys rushed into the village, and Chu Ping quickly returned to report, "Marquis, we arrived a bit late. These hateful bandits killed everyone in the village, blood flowing everywhere."
Feng Fuce’s frigid brow showed no change in expression, only saying coldly, "Search carefully, see if there are any survivors."
"Yes." Chu Ping turned and left.
Feng Fuce walked into the village, where the scent of blood was overpowering.
He coldly swept his gaze around.
Naked farmers defiled before death, infants less than a year old tragically dead in swaddling clothes, and elders with no ability to move beaten to death after being dragged out.
Feng Fuce couldn’t help but curl his lips coldly.
Having lived in the mortal world for so many years, he realized one thing—
Some people’s hearts are uglier and more vicious than demons and ghosts.
Suddenly, Feng Fuce passed by an overturned vegetable basket.
He caught a faint scent of a living person.
So he paused, then turned toward the basket.
The moment Feng Fuce lifted the basket, there was an eight or nine-year-old boy, stained with blood, his bright black eyes filled with fear and vigilance.
Feng Fuce lowered his eyes, looking at the boy’s left foot, already a bloody mess.
He bent down and reached out, intending to help him up.
The boy’s hand suddenly slashed a sharp gleam toward Feng Fuce’s throat!