After arriving at the Yang Wood Forest, Ye Yuqiao quietly approached Chen Hao.
Chen Hao had chosen a highland area ahead where the view was more open for cultivation. In front of him was a winding sea of trees, ending in a bank of white mist. Below the mist flowed a silent and still river;
Behind Chen Hao stood a tree, its roots thicker than the trunks of the shrubbery. Though an old tree, it still bore tender green leaves, lush and dense, shielding Chen Hao from the night sky and starlight at night, and from the blazing sun during the day.
After a while, Ye Yuqiao finally saw Chen Hao's profile. Thus, her steps became even lighter, lighter than the wind itself.
She feared disturbing Chen Hao, and she also feared Chen Hao seeing the tears as thin as threads on her face.
A day apart felt like an eternity, such a feeling was profoundly intense.
Ultimately, Ye Yuqiao stopped beside a large tree. She hid behind it, poking her head out to secretly watch Chen Hao.