Feng Jun couldn't be bothered to explain to the guarding Taoist priests and with a press on the windowsill, he vaulted out and silently vanished into the rainy night.
Less than a minute later, he returned and spoke gravely, "The person's scent is gone... tsk, the rain is a bit too heavy."
At the window, although there was only about ten centimeters of eaves, it was enough to ensure that some scents could linger for a short while.
But in the rainy ground, all scents would be quickly washed away by the rainwater.
The Taoist guards didn't want to believe him, but seeing his swift movements when he left and his equally noiseless, light return, the most crucial point was—there was not a single drop of water on him.
Therefore, they had no choice but to believe, and one of them asked softly, "Can you describe the scent of this person?"
"I can't describe it," Feng Jun shook his head. Scents were unique to each person, and the subtle differences were truly indescribable in words.
