No one would care, Ye Qingtang, whether she lived or died.,Ye Qingtang slowly closed her eyes, looking back on her life, filled with countless regrets.,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.。