The sound of footsteps at the foot of the hill struck Ye Fan's heart like heavy hammers. As he turned, his robes whipped up a gust of wind, brushing right against the blood-stained pupils of a village child. The boy was barely eight or nine years old, with a claw mark deep enough to reveal bone across his left cheek. The toddler in his arms was even younger, around five, with a bruised and swollen forehead. Blood from the boy's trouser legs had dried to a dark brown, dripping steadily down his wrists.
"Don't be afraid." Ye Fan crouched down, his fingertips brushing the back of the child's trembling hand. In his past life as an Inquiry Realm master, he was most skilled at soothing anxious hearts, and his voice now was softer than when coaxing a younger brother. "Tell me slowly, what's behind us?"
The child opened his mouth, a sound like a wheezing bellows issuing from his throat. Suddenly, he let go of the little girl in his arms—the child was still clutching half a roasted sweet potato, likely hidden in her bodice and saved from being snatched—and pointed his blood-crusted hand toward the purple mist.
Chapter 405