The sounds of slaughter outside the main altar erupted at the third quarter of the Yin hour.
As Pi Yanlin pressed his back against the blue brick wall to slip into the back alley, he heard the flying-fish robes of the Xuan’an Bureau shattering the vermilion-lacquered gates, and the Beggar Sect’s dog-beating staves toppling the gilded plaque above the lintel.
He shrank his neck, pulling his outer robe up over his head—having passed by the martial arts arena moments ago, a Xuan-qi blade from a Shadow Attendant had nearly shorn off his sleeve, and the back of his neck still felt icy.
Chapter 97