With a string of curses, he dashed straight into the array. Perhaps emboldened by the alcohol, or simply enraged at being attacked, he held back nothing this time, showing zero chivalry. Wielding a folding fan inlaid with beauty motifs, he unleashed a bone-corroding scent laced with pink peach-blossom vapor. The fragrance was overwhelmingly oppressive, carrying an abyssal aura of despair and excruciating agony. Struck by such a foul method, Qinghuan and her companions immediately grew hazy-eyed, breaking out in heavy sweats as pain—like stabbing needles—seized them from flesh to bone.
Indeed!
That was no illusion! As the young master snapped open his fan with a sharp *crack* and flicked it, countless spirit needles, as fine as cow hair, shot out from the hollow bamboo ribs, entirely concealed within the crimson mist.
Chapter 1231