In the dark night, the wind blew and the moonlight felt cold.
The thick night was like a hand that represented death holding the brush of the Life and Death Book, painting everything in hazy ink and forming a picture of death.
Everything was grayish-black.
Only the blood dripping from the wound on the wanted criminal's neck became the most shocking color in this grayish-black world.
This lasted until the gentle footsteps echoed and a gray figure slowly walked into the painting. It replaced the glare of the blood and became the most intense cold outside the inn on Panquan Road.
This cold seemed to cause the dripping blood to freeze for a moment. It also made the eyes of the old man at the entrance of the inn narrow as he looked at the figure walking over.
His black hair draped over his shoulders and his slender figure was tall and straight. His cold gaze coupled with his well-defined face was like a blade that was slowly being unsheathed.
