The mist of Suyuan Mountain wriggled like a living thing, entwining every inch of the land. Fang Zhou stood at the foot of the mountain, his white coat flapping in the mountain breeze, revealing a row of surgical knives at his waist—each engraved with different spells. His gaze was stern, but his fingers trembled slightly.
His wife Wen Xiaoshu and daughter Little Meng had just appeared before him.
They shouldn't be here. Yet Wen Xiaoshu held Little Meng's hand and stepped into the mist without any consciousness.
"Fang Zhou, are you sure they entered the mountain?" Li Bolin's voice came from behind.
Fang Zhou didn't respond, just raised his hand, a drop of fresh blood oozing from his palm. The blood bead floated in the air, trembling slightly, then drifted in a certain direction. He could sense the location of his dear ones through blood.
"That way," he said in a low, hoarse voice. "Mei Yang... is guiding them."
Li Bolin frowned. "Mei Yang? Your ex-wife?"
