Midwinter seventeen, the setting sun like blood dyed the Locust God resurrection altar in a dim, crimson glow.
Bluestone paths cast a cold light in the fading twilight, and the wind sweeping through the halls rustled the fallen leaves. Only the copper bells on the eaves swung lazily in the dusk, ringing out a few lonely notes that seemed to steep the entire twilight of the altar into a jar of silent wine.
Li Rufeng stood before the altar with the three women, gazing at the rust-covered rice-ear lock, and couldn't help muttering doubts in his heart.
Chapter 567