The sound of horse hooves crushed the silence of the night. Ye Fan's heels sank into the mud, each step kicking up muddy splashes. He could hear his own heartbeat, slamming heavily against the phantom mountains and rivers of his Inner World—that trace of Qi left by the mysterious person was now seeping out with a scorching heat alongside his heartbeat, probing his nerves like a fine needle.
The bloody mist from his downfall in his past life suddenly flickered before his eyes. He bit the tip of his tongue, and the taste of rust immediately spread—good, this was no dream.
"Master Ye." Su Han's voice came from the left. Raindrops clung to the dark cloak of the Hanmei Pavilion Master, and the poison-quenched dagger at his waist gleamed with a dim blue light in the moonlight. "The Nether Palace's elite vanguard is taking that old trail from Qinglan Mountain ten years ago. There are three hundred men in each of the east, south, and north forests, trying to circle around and flank us." He traced three lines in the muddy ground. "I had our secret agents set tripwires in the east and north. The trap on the south side..."
Chapter 393