After greeting, Zhou Xiaohe turned and sat down in another corner of the rundown house with two cushions, joined by Li Erzhu.
Li Erzhu silently began his cultivation.
Zhou Xiaohe took out a bound novel from her travel bag and started reading it.
For a while, the snowstorm continued unabated, and the only sound left in the world was the mournful howling of the mountain winds.
Honestly,
Xu Yuan didn't like listening to ghost stories, especially not in the current setting.
It was very cold, the stove was warm, but Xu Yuan felt his heart was chillingly cold.
After a moment of silence, Xu Yuan tentatively looked over his shoulder.
There was nothing else there,
he saw a pair of delicate, pale, bare feet.
They weren't Ran Qingmo's, and they were a bit too small.
Seeing this, Xu Yuan didn't continue to turn around but silently turned his head back.
He wasn't afraid, but he did feel like cursing someone.
