"So, in the emperor's heart, even if Feng Lingyan wanted to kill me, she was only worried that it would dirty Feng Lingyan's hands..." An Zihao murmured to himself. This fact was like a sharp sword, deeply hurting his heart.

An nodded, agreeing with An Zihao: "Yes, that's true." These simple, cold words struck An Zihao's fragile heart like a heavy hammer.

Hearing An Yi's response, An Zihao felt his mind spinning. He cried out, heartbroken, "Nalan Yunzhi, oh Nalan Yunzhi, it turns out you're not without sincerity. It's just that you've never given your sincerity to anyone other than Feng Lingyan..."

Just as An Yi was about to end An Zihao's life, a shocking scene occurred...

An Zihao's once lustrous black hair turned snow-white in the blink of an eye, as if time had flown away from him in an instant. His once fair, smooth, flawless face was suddenly covered in wrinkles, like dry, cracked earth, with deep and shallow gullies crisscrossing it.

In just a moment, the handsome man who had originally looked only in his twenties, suddenly looked like an octogenarian who had experienced many vicissitudes of life. This sudden change shocked An Yi. She stared at everything in front of her in astonishment, and her hands froze involuntarily.

Meanwhile, An Zihao sat speechlessly on the ground, his gaze lingering in the direction of the Purple Star Palace. His face revealed an unusual calmness. He seemed to have accepted his fate and was no longer surprised or frightened by all these unexpected changes.

Just as An Yi was debating whether to kill An Zihao outright or report to Nalan Yunzhi first, there was a sudden "bang" as An Zihao fell to the ground. An Yi leaned over to check his breath, but there was no warm breath in his hand...