C163 If You Are Not Mad You will Not Live

Bailee Qing's singing was just like his own singing. It gave off a cold and eerie feeling, as if it was a flower flowing through a pitch-black water surface in the darkness.

Like an icy moonlight falling into the snow, it fell onto his fluttering white, wide sleeves. He held the long blade in his hand, and slowly moved it horizontally across his delicately beautiful face. The cold