The night was thick as spilled ink, wrapping the Zhenbei altar in a suffocating shroud.
Gu Qinghuan pressed herself against the bluestone wall, her fingertips digging into the hilt of her blade. Through a gap in the weathered bricks, she fixed her gaze on the towering flames at the center of the altar.
"The scent of the incense ash is wrong," Pi Yanlin suddenly whispered at her ear.
Chapter 115