On the verge of widowhood

Large purple irises began to grow on the ground, and He Bingzhuping snapped his fingers with his outstretched hand, and his arm began to slowly become porcelain. The delicate enamel covered a section of the wrist with a strange beauty, until Each fingertip lit up a faint candle.

With the slight wind in the store, the candles burned more and more vigorously, and then quietly fell to the ground like a flower, igniting a field of irises.

Before Qiao Que was surprised, she saw that the flames were burning more and more vigorously, and the lavender "ashes" were rising in the air, ignoring the walls used to separate the outside world from the storefront and spreading outwards, like a falling flower language, which is too beautiful to behold .

Qiao Que was dumbfounded.

Even though he knew that there was a huge gap between him and them, knowing and seeing it with his own eyes was incomparably shocking.

Qiao Que pursed her lips.