In the night rain, Zhu Jing Palace was dark and lonely, almost with an air of wavering, as if at any moment it would suddenly be swallowed by darkness.
Compared to Yong Ji, Zhang Mengqiu's confidence was much deeper. But he was still very meticulous, cautious to the point of excess.
He even raised his wrist to check once more the small fan-shaped mark that had been branded for more than twenty years.
Since Li Du's death, fifty-nine days had passed, which Zhang Mengqiu remembered very clearly.
Ever since they mastered this power beyond the mortal realm, there were few things they couldn't do, few people they couldn't kill.
This autumn and winter, the entire Shengjing was stirred by Jinyang's resolute hand, "Kill her." A voice suggested at that time.
So this matter had been prepared since then.
