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Driving on the silent highway.
The headlights illuminated the road ahead but couldn't dispel the gloom before my eyes.
The entire city was eerily quiet, save for the occasional distant screams and the wailing of the Ghost Infant—no other sounds were heard.
The once bustling Dachang City was gradually dying because of the presence of the Ghost Infant.
At least, all along the drive Yang Jian couldn't feel a trace of vitality.
Death was spreading, and fear was proliferating.
As Yang Jian looked out of the car window, his mood was dismal.
He was still pondering the words Wang Xiaoming had said before.
"He pinned all his hopes on me, tasking me with saving the entire city, but I've done everything I could. I've imprisoned that fourth-stage Ghost Infant, but what has changed? It's just a temporary fix at best, and too many have died over these days—Ye Feng, Sun Yi, He Chuan, as well as those ghostmasters I don't know."
