The morning mist had not yet dissipated, and water droplets still clung to the dark tiles of the inn. As Ye Fan crossed the threshold, a sudden, fine chill rippled across the back of his neck—a warning from the lingering energy of the bronze Gu jar within his Inner World, much like the blood-red bead that used to throb deep within his Sea of Consciousness when he was ambushed in his past life.
"The blood on big brother smells lighter today," Chǔ Hóngzhuāng said, standing on tiptoe to lean closer as the silver bells in her hair chimed softly. The Scarlet Gu on her fingertip suddenly darted into his sleeve. "But here..." She tapped his chest. "There's a chill, heavier than the miasma of Southern Xinjiang."
Su Qingxue's pipa rested on the table, the place of the broken string wrapped halfway with red silk. She leaned against the window frame, the morning light piercing her moon-white gauze dress and dyeing the tear mole at the corner of her eye a pale gold. "The thirty-odd assassins Wang Ba brought with them all carry tally plates from the Wuji Chamber of Commerce." Her fingertips stroked the rim of her tea cup. "Yet three days ago, the head of the Wuji Chamber of Commerce was in Cangwu City wishing Elder Chén a long life."
Chapter 139