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The pitch-black ink pot line drew perfect arcs, wrapping around Zhang Ning in circles, binding him like fishing line and yanking his collapsing body upright!
This line from the ink pot was previously used by the old carpenter as a positioning tool for drawing straight lines and surveying angles, its ink mixed with cinnabar, a known weapon against zombies. Now in He Qing's hands, it twisted and turned at will, displaying a myriad of uses, the applications limited only by the person wielding it.
Only at this moment did Ning Rui belatedly realize that all that was left in his hands was a light wooden frame. He blinked, looking at the pile of scattered powder on the ground, and then understood that everything that had happened was not an illusion!
Although his view was obstructed and he hadn't seen anything, the mere sounds had been enough for him to imagine an entire drama unfolding.
