Rain poured down in sheets.
Zhou Yun gripped the steering wheel tightly, the windshield wipers long since unable to keep up with the downpour. The figure that suddenly appeared in the middle of the road made his blood run cold: a woman in ancient dress, holding a bronze mirror in her arms.
“Skree, ”
The tires shrieked against the slick road. As the car spun out of control, Zhou Yun saw the woman's face through the curtain of rain. It was a face that had no place in the mortal world, with a vivid red cinnabar mark between her brows.
“Bang!”
As the airbag burst open, he instinctively clutched the pendant at his chest: a fragment of bronze he had picked up at the antique market that day. The stall owner had sworn it was an artifact from the Shang or Zhou dynasty.
As his consciousness faded into darkness, Zhou Yun heard a faint sigh: “At last... I've found a suitable Host...”
