The candle flickered, casting wavering shadows.
There was a dead silence inside the cabin, and the cold light reflected from the iron bars pierced straight to the heart.
Ran Zhongyi's brows were tightly furrowed, he truly hadn't expected Liang Qu to bring them such a shocking piece of bad news.
"Pass me the candle," he said.
Liang Qu handed over the candlestick.
Ran Zhongyi wrapped the light close and approached the iron cage, dispelling the darkness within.
The corner was covered with straw overgrown with moss, upon which Cheng Chong lay, his back slightly hunched, and his hair gray as though he was an old wolf driven from its pack, wandering the wilderness on an empty stomach, with his eye sockets sharply protruding.
"How old is he?"
"Fifty-six."
"He looks much older."
"He was robust with jet-black hair when I first saw him; maybe it's because his Dantian was broken, and his vital energy leaked away. He turned into this less than a day."
