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"Who?!"
The sound of Huangmei opera sung eerily through the mist.
At the same moment, a viscous and chilling scent of blood wafted through the air.
The face that had been haunting Wang Anfeng like a wronged spirit now vividly materialized before him, with hair as white as a crane's and an expression full of kindness. Yet, it bore a pair of slender, pale hands as exquisite as jade.
Those hands were holding a human head; with a casual flick, the head tumbled before Wang Anfeng. After a few rolls, it came to a stop, its eyes staring at Wang Anfeng, filled with terror, dread, and a lingering reluctance.
The old crone smiled benevolently,
"Young Master Wang, where might you be going..."
The head's eyes gazed woodenly at him.
Wang Anfeng's countenance was more than just pale.
It was as if a vicious stab had plunged into his heart, and after it penetrated, it twisted cruelly.
The cruellest thing in the world isn't the struggle between life and death.
