As the sound of hooves crushed the final layer of morning mist, a coppery, sweet taste suddenly rose in Ye Fan's throat. He jerked the reins hard, and the green-maned steed reared, pulling to a halt before the weathered stone stele at the entrance to Netherworld.
"Ah-Ye?" Su Qingxue's round silk fan propped up the small of his back just in time, her fingertips brushing against the cold sweat seeping through his tunic. As she leaned closer, the scent of sunken agarwood in her hair mixed with the smell of rotting leaves from the valley, stabbing straight into his nasal passages—that scent was wrong, as though artificially blended. The top notes were dead wood soaked in mire for a decade, while the bottom notes unexpectedly harbored a trace of... rust and blood.
Lin Zhaoyue's scabbard struck his shoulder with a dull clank. A sword cultivator's five senses were three times sharper than an ordinary person's. Gazing at the churning gray mist at the valley entrance, she let out a faint hum as the Frost Spirit Bead vibrated in her throat: "There is sword qi in the mist."
Chapter 199