The sky was hung with a cold moon, the whole firmament swathed in dark clouds, deepening the hush of the night, allowing hardly any light at all.
Standing remotely was a building, devoid of any activity, entirely sheathed in darkness. The street light flickered gloomily and the wind whisked away the fallen leaves, leaving behind an echo of rustling sounds on the ground.
Fu Chi stood by the window.
There was no light turned on in the room.
In his hand, he held a slender and sharp surgical knife that flickered cold under the moonlight as it twirled between his slender fingers.
It seemed as if it could slash a throat at any moment.
His phoenix eyes were slightly drooped and his noble face showed no emotion.
An inexplicable sense of danger lurked.
He had stood there for nearly an hour already.
It was now half past eight at night.
Jiang Ruan hadn't returned yet.
She would always return home latest by seven, without fail.
