Antique European decor, candlelight illuminating the treasured murals on the arched ceiling.
The old clock on the wall struck, its prolonged eight strokes lingering with a soul-capturing reverberation.
Through a few carved European columns, the dimness was oppressive.
Bathed in a fleeting light, Xu Jingxi sat on the sofa smoking, his upper body bared and gleaming, a bloodied bandage dangling from his hand holding the cigarette, hanging in disarray.
Two clear, long bloodstains were visible on his arm, with blood tracing down the skin, ghastly and mottled, the veins in the arm bulging like writhing earthworms.
The closer one got to him, the more pronounced the scent of blood became.
After all, even a man presumed to be flawless had a mortal body; the Wolf King, even recognizing his master promptly, had a submission response far less prompt than that of humans.
