Just as Ran Yan had scheduled, the facial reconstruction was completed the following afternoon. Without the means to apply pigmentation, Ran Yan was forced to forgo it, instead sketching the likeness of the deceased based on the reconstruction.
Outside, a rustling snowstorm was underway. Ran Yan leaned over the desk, her brush giving life to the image of a woman in her early twenties on the paper before her, her features gentle and round with the delicate beauty of a young lady, yet her hair was styled in an extravagant half-flipped bun, creating a somewhat dissonant appearance.
Xiao Song stood by her side and saw her set down the brush before shifting his attentive gaze to the paper. At a glance, he was slightly surprised, "This lady..."
"Is there something amiss?" Ran Yan rarely saw such a natural expression on his face and couldn't help but ask with curiosity, "Have you met her?"
