As they rounded the mountain bend, the mountain mist thinned slightly. Ye Fan was the first to spot the few wisps of crooked smoke—blue-gray pillars drifting in the dusk like snapped threads of silk.
Su Qingxue, walking at the very front, suddenly halted. The jade flute in her hair quivered gently, and she tilted her head. "There's the smell of burning wood, and... the stench of stale blood."
Lin Zhaoyue's sword tip rose slightly, her sword Qi condensing into a pale cyan web of light three feet ahead. "There are fresh knife marks on the thatch fence."
Chapter 372