The cicadas' cries of midsummer echoed noisily, carried by the night breeze into the tranquil Autumn Water Pavilion.

Even the cicadas were overwhelmed by the heat, so it was only natural for ice pops to melt.

Ying Bing's icy skin and jade bones were now softening, her head resting against something to prevent her from collapsing entirely. Her newly adorned hairpin and step shake were in disarray, yet she lacked the strength to move away.

The cicadas' cries were no longer audible to her.