The night at the Minister's Estate was heavier than usual.
Gu Qinghuan’s blade hung suspended in mid-air. Within the study window, the mass of black mist twisted as if alive; its vaguely humanoid outline began to disintegrate, and frantic, feverish light surged within its ghostly green pupils—it was trying to escape.
"What’s the rush?" Pi Yanlin’s voice drifted over, languid and slow.
Chapter 212