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Yu Xuanji saw a young son.
He was handsome in appearance and noble in temperament, but he was standing in the middle of a group of disaster victims, without the slightest disgust or arrogance on his face.
In the bone-piercing cold wind, a dirty child shivered.
The young man took off his own cloak and put it on the child.
The child raised his head in panic and looked at the young nobleman, as if he was wondering.
Why is this young nobleman different from those high-ranking officials?
The young man smiled, stretched out his hand in the cold wind, rubbed the child's head, and his eyes were gentle.
The sun pierced the dark clouds and illuminated the earth, giving the victims some warmth. The sun shone on the young man, making him look like a god in the world.
He obviously doesn't eat the fireworks of the world, but he has a heart of compassion.
Yu Xuanji stared at this scene, and muttered in his mouth.
"Young Master Song..."