The morning mist at the alley entrance was half-scattered by a draft. The Iron-masked Man stepped out of the haze, wrapped in a dark cloak. The nine-ring saber at his waist hummed and vibrated, and the dark red snake pattern on the scabbard exuded a fishy stench in the morning light—the very signature marking of the Dusha Sect's main stronghold.
Ye Fan paused slightly. In his past life, when he fell, the last thing that entered his vision was this exact snake pattern, which was then branded onto his pursuer's saber hilt. His Adam's apple bobbed. The Jiuxiao Huanpei in his palm suddenly grew burning hot, and the newly condensed stream within his inner world violently kicked up spray—a sign that the advanced version of the Heavenly Derivation Art was resonating with his inner world.
"Master Ye." Su Qingxue pressed close to him. The silk strings of the broken-stringed zither in her sleeve brushed against his wrist, and her warm breath swept past the back of his ear. "This humble servant brewed some 'Intoxicated Bone Powder' this morning; mixed with the morning dew, it can knock out half a street." Her fingertips quietly hooked into his belt—the agreed-upon secret signal between the two to "fall back."
Chapter 119