Perhaps feeling someone's gaze, the girl slowly turned her head.
Murong Rong was startled.
Half of the girl's face was ruined, with several earthworm-like scars criss-crossing the face. The bloody scabs had not yet fallen off, and they were deep and black and snaked across her face, which was very terrifying.
When the girl saw Murong Rong, she was stunned for a while. Then when she saw the horror in Murong Rong's eyes, she covered her face with her hands and turned away.
That hand is also scarred.
From the bald girl's half of the face, Murong Rong saw her own shadow, which looked very much like the other half of her face.
"Are you Ouyang Xiyu?"
The bald girl shook her head slightly, "Are you Ouyang Xiyu?" The rustling voice seemed to have been burned, giving off an uncomfortable sense of grinding.
Murong Rong was sure that this girl was Ouyang Xiyu, the girl who was supposed to be Yin Zai's wife.
Her injury was much more serious than Murong Rong imagined, and she was much more like herself than Murong Rong imagined. "Are you feeling better?"
The bald girl shook her head slowly, her head resting on the chair listlessly.
Under the chair, a soft blanket fell.
Murong Rong picked up the blanket and covered Ouyang Xiyu. It made her heartache to see this poor girl, who was exactly the same age as Hua, but suffered such bad luck.
The exposed half of Ouyang Xiyu's leg looked a little shrunken, and she thought it was dead.
But even so, she sat there quietly with an elegant and noble charm.
This is the real daughter of a famous family, a famous lady.
Murong Rong couldn't help but feel ashamed. If the one marrying Yin Zai was the real Ouyang Xiyu, they would be such a perfect match.
If it were Ouyang Xiyu, not only would he not be embarrassed, but he would also gain face for him.
If it were Ouyang Xiyu, this would be an enviable couple of gods and immortals.
She is just a liar. Even if she takes on Ouyang Xiyu's halo, she cannot change her vulgar and vulgar nature.
"Have you seen enough? Please go out." Ouyang Xiyu's hoarse voice carried a certain cold displeasure, and the half of his intact face exuded cold beauty, which was an innate nobility.
In front of Ouyang Xiyu, Murong Rong felt like a little girl lighting a fire in the kitchen.