Just then, the air above the quaint, antique room rippled. A figure mysteriously materialized and came plummeting down toward Luo Ziyun.
"Xiao'an?"
Luo Ziyun recognized him in an instant and cried out in alarm. With a flash of movement, she steadily caught the falling figure in her arms.
He was covered in wounds and spitting fresh blood. His handsome face was deathly pale, as if he might die at any moment.
"Xiao'an, you're not dead…" Luo Ziyun held him, hardly daring to believe he was really there in her arms.
That void had been so terrifying, yet he had somehow managed to escape and appear right before her.
But in the next instant, Tu Xiao'an's body flickered with light, and he began to shrink right there in her embrace.
He transformed into a small, exquisite snake.
The little snake's body was covered in wounds, no longer brilliant or dazzling.
Luo Ziyun's heart broke. 'He's so powerful. He must have suffered a fatal injury to be forced back into his original form.'
