Elder Chén’s teacup struck the stone table with a crisp clatter. The knuckles beneath his grey Daoist robe tightened until they turned white, his gaze fixed upon the bloody bronze bell lying on the ground. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke: "How could something from Hanmei Pavilion end up on a Cangwu Disciple?"
Lin Zhaoyue laid out the shattered jade and the token one by one, the wisteria flowers in her hair fluttering wildly in the wind: "By the well in the morning mist, the villagers said half a piece of Heart-Protecting Jade floated to the surface—it’s the exact same piece this man had." Her fingertip brushed over the twitching wrist of the man in black. "The black blood at his throat is Thousand-Day Drunk, used to buy time before waking up so the news could be sent out."
Ye Fan lowered his gaze to his crossed hands. Inside his Inner World, the zither patterns of the Jiuxiao Huanpei were still pulsating, resembling the sharp, overwhelming pain in his Sea of Consciousness when he was betrayed in his past life. He could smell the growing scent of blood in the morning mist, mixed with the lingering fragrance of soap on Xiǎolián’s handkerchief—this trap was far too elaborate: the token from the Zhao Clan, the Heart-Protecting Jade from the Sword Sect, the bronze bell from Hanmei Pavilion. Clearly, someone was trying to direct the animosity of three different factions toward a single target.
Chapter 63