C393 Where did Little Qing go

The white mist was dyed gold by the gentle moonlight and the torchlight held by the patrolling soldiers.

Under the moonlight, the leaves on the tree rustled.

It sounded as if she was playing a beautiful melody. It was graceful and sad, deep and beautiful, and the beating notes seemed to jump out from the hazy moonlight.

The sky was not completely black. Instead