At three o'clock in the morning, the street lights were reflected by the accumulated water in the rain alley. Chu Junyang thrust the mahogany sword into the third ghost's wall formation, and a loud noise came from the end of the alley - Zhao Gang kicked the trash can away, and the iron sheet smashed the beer bottle.
"Xiao Bai, is the compass not broken? It's the eighth circle!" Zhao Gang wiped his face, his leather jacket stained with blood.
Murong Xue swept his flashlight across the wall, and the rain suddenly condensed. She kicked open the ajar door: "Shut up, it smells of blood."
The pomegranate tree in the yard is crooked, with a red rope wrapped around the trunk and a knot hanging...
