As mountain winds swept withered leaves past everyone's temples, Ye Fan's pupils contracted slightly. He stared at the spiderweb-like crack cleaving diagonally across the sky, and the memories of his fall in his past life suddenly surged in his mind—the same faint purple mist, the same lingering sense of palpitation, and the bizarre patterns flowing across the red jade between the forehead of Xiao Zhan's desiccated corpse.
"Older brother?" Su Qingxue's fingertips rested gently on the back of his hand, and her warm, soft touch pulled him back from his memories. She had somehow already rearranged her hair hairpin; though two pearls were missing from the gold swaying tassel, it only gave the flash of gold by her temples an extra touch of agility. The tear mole at the outer corner of her eye quivered as she tilted her head. "There's a smell of rot and rust in this mist, bearing a striking resemblance to the stale bloodstains in the secret tunnels of Hanmei Pavilion."
Lin Zhaoyue's sword hummed as it left its scabbard, casting a half-arc of chilling light before the rift. Her already cold and frosty features took on an even deeper chill, and the fallen leaves lifted by the tip of her sword were shredded to pieces by her sword qi: "The flow of qi is even more chaotic than the myriad swords in the Sword Grave." Before her voice faded, the shattered leaves actually drifted against the wind toward the rift, as if grasped by an invisible hand.
Chapter 280