The hall was brightly lit, but the light couldn't dispel the oppressive atmosphere, which was so stagnant it felt almost tangible.
Li Wushang had been standing before the window for a long time, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out at the deep darkness of the night.
He was waiting.
Waiting for news.
This time, the Netherworld Pavilion had used an attack on a Qingxuan Sect transport team as bait to lure Fang Han into a trap, where two Second-Grade Elders lay in wait to kill him.
To ensure the operation was foolproof, they had even borrowed the Spirit-Hiding Pearl from the treasure vault to block Fang Han's Perception Secret Technique.
Two Second-Grade Elders ambushing a mere Early Third Grade Fang Han—it should have been foolproof.
And yet, for some unknown reason, a faint sense of unease lingered in his heart.
That unease had started yesterday, coiling in his mind, impossible to shake off, like a deep, persistent rot.
"Vice Pavilion Master."
