As Song Yun was deep in thought, Song Luoshen had already turned and left gracefully.
Before long, Qingluan returned to the room.
"What is this...?" Qingluan looked at the bowl of bird's nest with some confusion and asked, "Who sent it?"
"Luoshen sent it." Song Yun said with a smile.
"Song Luoshen? From Song Dong's branch?" Qingluan muttered, "Mr. Song said that the people from Song Dong's branch never express their stance directly; we need to be more cautious with them!"
"I know." Song Yun replied, "My will is quite firm, I won't be easily confused or misled."
That night, Song Yun, unlike the previous evening when he was unconscious, slept rather restlessly. The wounds on his body crisscrossed, turning over pulled at them. Even lying still without turning, the wounds on his back hurt fiercely. Every time he tried to fall asleep, he was awakened by the pain.
