Late at night, on the scorched earth where flames soared, Lin An suddenly felt the connection with Ugly Head tremble.
Hum, hum, hum...
His vision seemed to penetrate through the expanse of space and time, walking within a fog.
Divination!
The head's divinatory ability, which could be said to be trash compared to Zheng Ling's, had once again come into play.
But this time, it seemed that the scene he saw was the same as last time, with Chen Shuyun lying on the bed, a dagger thrust into her chest, and Chen Xinmi sitting on top of her, raising the dagger and plunging it into her own chest.
"Why do I keep having this prophecy?"
Lin An looked at the head in his hands with confusion, and the head rolled its eyes at him, "If you ask me, who do I ask?"
What use are you!
Just then, Lin An and the head's eyes widened simultaneously. The dense fog swirled, and beside the bed appeared a huge, capital-letter-shaped iron frame, with a figure bound to it, wailing piteously.
