Fang Qiong stepped into a dark ruin in the illusion.
The rain poured. Every time lightning struck, it would add some color to this heavy and dark world.
The ruins of the towering buildings, broken windows, and the edge of the collapsed wall were all traces of time, mercilessly showing the tragic scene of the annihilation of the family back then.
Walking into the ruins, Fang Qiong saw broken furniture covering the ground, covered in dust and decay.
The extinguished candles and broken paintings, as well as the dried black bloodstains and burnt marks in the corners, were all telling Fang Qiong the painful price of pursuing power and revenge.
Stepping into the corridor, a cold wind blew with a heavy chill, as if it was the call and wail of the undead.
