The crisp and high-pitched cry of an eagle pierced the sky. In the darkness, a grayish-red figure swept across the sky of Shangjing.
The woman clad in a Daoist robe sat quietly in the Lake Heart Pavilion, her hair as smooth as satin draped over her shoulders, yet still without a hint of disarray. She sat there in silence as if waiting for someone to arrive.
On the stone table, a simple bamboo cup released faint wisps of steam. Without candlelight, the Lake Heart Pavilion had only the pale moonlight, which complemented the otherworldly aura of the woman as if clouds had gathered around the lake center for her.
"Fog Miasma Toad."
Her fingers, pale as scallions, lightly tapped the stone table. Zhuge Qing's eyes drooped as if she was a bit drowsy and she whispered to herself, "The fog condenses, carrying miasma; within hides the evil toad, swallowing souls."
