One was upstairs. The other was downstairs.
The two kept looking at each other this way.
The night was deeper. A thick fog covered the moon, making the pale moonlight appear even dimmer.
Sitting in the wheelchair, Lu Fan did not speak. He shook his head after throwing that Mohist giant, who was standing before the window, a look. With his head hanging down, he was playing with the metal piccolo that was becoming colder and colder.
He seemed to be regretting, but no one knew what he was regretting.
Squinting before the window, Mo Beike was looking at Lu Fan playing with the metal piccolo, his eye bags slightly vibrating. That was Wei Yu's piccolo.
Yinyang School's necromancers stood on the roof, the veils of their bamboo hats blowing in the wind. The beast machines looked horrendous on the long street.
And with the cold, gloomy wind, the night air was kind of chilly.
