Zhao Qingmei's brows knitted slightly, although she was unclear as to why the death of the eighth-generation Sect Hierarch of the Demon Sect had such a profound impact on the Ghost Swordsman opposite her, she knew this was an excellent opportunity.
"Swoosh!"
The next moment, the black fog moved violently and rushed forward swiftly.
Fast!
Way too fast!
Zhao Qingmei stepped forward as if she were a nimble breeze, a chilling brilliance emanating from within the black fog that could shake one's soul.
"Shi!" "Shi!"
At the instant the blade approached, An Jing felt an extreme chill in his heart, followed by the hair on his body standing on end.
His Evil Suppressing Sword instinctively lifted, trapping the two terrifying streaks of blade light.
"Clang!"
