As morning mist drifted through the forest, Ye Shuli was using a blade of grass to tease a small lizard poking its head out from a crevice in the stone.
Jiang Ye lay flat on his back on a blue stone three zhang away, resting his head on his arms. The black Qi seeping from his wound coalesced into fine threads that wrapped around his fingers—a sealing technique he had recently devised, which, in his own words, was "recycling waste."
"There's the smell of blood in the southeast wind." Ye Shuli suddenly snapped the grass blade in half.
Chapter 483