Within the enclosed carriage, strands of a chilling aura seemed to seep through.
It quickly calmed down.
Inside the carriage.
"Qingfeng, Mingyue, Zhen Yuanzi..." The woman chewed over these three names, a trace of bewilderment appearing on her face, as if reminiscing.
Her expression grew extremely complex, and the carriage sank into a deathly silence—truly a deathly silence.
No sound of breathing, no heartbeat, not even the flow of blood.
Miss Mingyue reached out and brushed her hand over the small table in the center of the seat, where a pot of hot tea and two empty cups appeared.
She poured tea into the empty cups, gently inviting.
Zhang Fusheng hesitated for a moment, pointing to his own empty chest cavity—his Plague Ghost form was just a skeleton.
Miss Mingyue laughed lightly, taking a sip herself, as if the tea soothed her turbulent emotions.
She asked:
"What kind of person is the True Man?"
