Han Qingru, who previously treasured her looks even in the face of death, was currently curled up in a dim basement. Her face no longer had a clear patch of skin. Half of it was red while the other half was black. A good half of her eat was also missing.
Her two smooth hands which could be sullied by the gentlest breeze were currently black and coarse.
In front of her was a simple-looking fabric weaving machine. Beside her was a tall pile of black fur.
That black fur was exactly the same as the fur on those huge demonic beasts that were crashing against the city walls.
Han Qingru seemed like a puppet as she moved the levers on the machine and weaved the fur
The moment Mo Wuji landed in the basement, he smelt the intense odour. Clearly, this odour was from the fur.
"Senior Sister Qingru…" Mo Wuji charged forward with a single step and pulled Han Qingru up.
