The night granted it a coat of black, making it impossible for me to find it.
Jiang Xiaomao crouched on a wooden bench in the Lakefront Corridor, gazing sorrowfully into the ink-dark night and darkly muttering a phrase from a poem she had revised herself.
However, she was currently a cat and even if she was feeling poetic, she wouldn't really recite it out loud - a cat's meow in the middle of the night could easily attract some unclean things that like darkness, especially in a gathering place of wizards.
As a legitimate member of the Zhongshan Jiang family, she understood this common knowledge.
