Shen Luo's Divine Sense became increasingly chaotic, and before his eyes, there seemed to be a layer of blood-red gloom, as if shrouded in haze. Through the murkiness, he saw a figure of a little girl with thin, straw-like hair, staggering towards a wooden-faced, emaciated middle-aged man.
The little girl's cracked lips parted and moved as though she were calling out "Daddy," but the middle-aged man remained expressionless. He slowly drew a sharp knife from behind his back, its blade stained with black blood and faintly gleaming with a cold light.
Next to him, in a soot-blackened iron pot, yellow soup churned and bubbled.
"No, this cannot be..."
Shen Luo watched the man's Adam's apple move once, and the sharp knife in his hand inched towards the little girl's shriveled chest. His last reserves of rationality finally began to lose control.
