The vendor noticed Xie Shizhu's exceptional beauty and spoke more slowly, "She was crazy and mad. She disappeared last year and ran south. She even said she was from Cang Yue Country. But Cang Yue Country was reduced to ashes by Xihe a long time ago. How could there be a Cang Yue?"
The more he spoke, the paler the woman's face became. Yan Chou frowned slightly and said in a cold tone, "Shut up."
The vendor was stunned, thinking, "Didn't you tell me to speak up? And now you're telling me to shut up again."
However, the man's temperament was not like that of ordinary people. It was obvious that he came from a wealthy family. The peddler could only take the silver and return to his stall.
Yan Chou took Xie Shizhu's cold little hand, held it tightly in his palm, and gently stroked it with his fingertips, as if to comfort her.
His voice was softer than usual, "Let's go."
Xie Shizhu is still immersed in the grief of her mother who survived the defeat and escaped and has been looking for her.
Yan Chou led the way, holding Xie Shizhu's hand and walking south.
The two finally stopped at a desolate place, surrounded by weeds and only a few farmers.
Yan Chou stopped an old farmer and showed him the portrait.
The farmer took it, looked at it for a long time, and then said in silence, "I think I've seen the woman in the portrait before. Although she's not as young as this one, it's probably her."
Xie Shizhu's eyes sparkled with hope. Just as she was about to speak, Yan Chou asked for her, "Where is she?"
The farmer sighed, "Dead."
Xie Shizhu stood there in a daze, her thick eyelashes wet. She muttered to herself, "Dead?"
Yan Chou turned his head and saw Xie Shizhu's grief-stricken expression. His heart ached for a long time. He took a deep breath and handed the farmer some silver while asking, "How did he die?"
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