The morning mist was so thick it felt as though it could be wrung out, a heavy gray veil shrouding everything on the outskirts of the city. Everything within sight was but a blurred, indistinct shadow. Damp mist, carrying the scent of soil, rotting leaves, and a faint, cloying metallic sweetness, crept into Shen Mingyue’s nostrils, causing her to frown.
Instinctively, she tightened her grip on Gu Jinghong, whom she was supporting. She could feel the scorching heat radiating from his palm—a fever brought on by blood loss. His blood dripped continuously through her fingers, blooming into dark red flowers on the flagstones, only to be congealed into scabs by the mist, as if these were the imprints of the countless wounds they had suffered along the way.
Shen Mingyue’s short sword was still dripping, the blood congealed on the cold metal surface gleaming with an eerie light, like a demon’s sneer. The sandalwood box in her arms struck her ribs with every step, each impact like a question from fate, reminding her of the secrets and dangers she carried and making her realize that she was now at the very heart of the storm. "Let’s find a secluded place to treat your wounds."
Chapter 53