The night without moonlight in the wild was as dark as ink; after the dust had settled, two figures, a man and a woman, came into view of the caravan.
The man was clad in blood-stained garments, his narrow eyes showing a trace of weariness.
The woman wore a veil over her head, her features indistinct, but the captivating curves that were faintly discernible stirred the imagination, yet the Ink Sword in her hand quashed any semblance of romantic fancy.
Upon seeing the two, Li Zhonghua's brow furrowed ever so slightly.
Almost instantly, he realized that these uninvited guests were led by the man dressed in blood-stained clothes.
The man's tone bore ill will, but he had not acted immediately, likely an acquaintance of Xinyao.
However, it wasn't like Xinyao to make enemies with her disposition.
Besides, there was something odd about the man's aura.
