The elderly person sitting in the courtyard keeping watch was motionless, his eyes fixed on the card table.
The corpse in the coffin had already stood up. Upon seeing this, Qian Cangyi hurriedly turned to run, but before he could take a step, he was grabbed by the right shoulder.
A tremendous force came, making his bones crackle.
Just as Qian Cangyi was about to use his skills, everything went pitch black before his eyes, and he couldn't see anything.
I don't know how long it has been, the noisy sounds were incessant, followed by a shaking sensation in his body.
"Liang Ping, Liang Ping, wake up!"
A steady voice came through.
Qian Cangyi recognized the voice; it was indeed the voice of Liang Ping's grandfather, Fan Yuantang.
He slowly opened his eyes, which were bright and piercing.
The slightly yellowed white ceiling entered his view, followed by Fan Yuantang's worried face.
And he was lying on the sofa.
