Yang Chuxia stared at the person ahead, whose face had become so gaunt as to be unrecognizable, the cheekbones now appeared much higher.
She had thought he would say something, but instead, he walked straight up to her, lifted his robe, and knelt down without hesitation, leaving Yang Chuxia startled.
"Brother An, why have you come?"
Yet Ye Zi'an didn't answer her; he just knelt quietly, his eyes fixed on hers. In them, she saw reluctance, pain, and pity—so many emotions.
After Ye Zi'an had knelt for quite a while, the crowd realized, "Isn't that the Lord Prefect? He must be really ill, he's barely a shadow of himself. If there's a sea breeze, such a person might just be blown away on the streets."
Why has the Lord Prefect also knelt down? Being so ill, why doesn't he rest at home?
"Who exactly knows how to treat this illness? If someone does, they should hurry up and treat it instead of tormenting people."
