The rain is pouring down, and the barren mountains are like ink.
The corpses were surging on the mass graves, rotten coffins were lying on the ground, and the remains of broken monuments were covered with slippery moss.
A slender figure huddled in a tattered coffin, with long hair wet and sticking to his pale cheeks. An arrow wound on his shoulder that was deep enough to see the bone was oozing black blood, mixed with rainwater and dripping into the rotten soil, making a soft "chichi" sound.
Su Qingyue opened her eyes, and there was a faint blue light in the depths of her pupils.
She could see - those gray figures wandering in the rain, dragging their stumps and broken arms, crawling and wailing in the mud; she could also hear - the whispers of the dead souls like the wind, lingering around her ears, telling their unresolved obsessions and resentments.
She is a living person, but she understands the underworld better than ghosts.
The siege just now was still before my eyes.
Seven men in black pounced from the dense forest, their blades quenched with poison, and their moves were deadly.
The iron plates they wore were engraved with a totem of a coiled snake holding the moon - that was the emblem of the Poison Su clan she once called "home".
