No one would care, Ye Qingtang, whether she lived or died.,A massive stone plummeted from the sky, hovering in mid-air. A fleeting shadow gracefully descended and landed upon it.,The melodious, low voice was ripped apart by the raging wind. The man slowly crouched down, his long and handsome fingers reaching towards the gushing wound. wisps of breath constantly flowed from Ye Qingtang's wound, dotting the man's palm, condensing into a half-bright heart.。