The cold fragrance of the morgue, mingled with the smell of rust, pierced Pi Yanlin’s nasal cavity. Cold sweat broke out on his temples, trickling down his jaw and into his collar.
He could clearly hear his own heartbeat. The image-reflecting technique, which had just been interrupted by interference from the laws, was now, guided by the pale golden halo between his brows, clearer than it had ever been.
The carved patterns on the surface of the iron coffin floated in the halo with a translucent phantom outline, like a skeleton stripped of its skin.
Chapter 59