The cold evening sun and cawing crows are steeped in sorrow, when will the ghostly Chong creatures in the mountains ever rest?
Mist drifts, rain patters, the fierce tiger roars, piling up bones into ashes.
Under the dim yellow light, Hong San—also known as Lord Hongshan—cast a long shadow, pressing down like a swath of gloom. The thick gold chain around his neck flashed glaringly.
In this moment, the aura he exuded was wholly at odds with the shrewd, worldly merchant he'd previously seemed to be.
"Yin Hu... Lord Hongshan!"
Zhang Fan and Fang Changle both narrowed their eyes slightly, facing this man as if confronting the greatest enemy.
"Gu... no, I should call you Fang Changle now. Maoshan disciple. Letting you serve under me for so long—it truly was beneath you." Lord Hongshan looked at Fang Changle, as if seeing an old friend again, his tone thick with knowing laughter.
