Qin Feng's voice grew increasingly soft, and as he spoke toward the end, he cautiously glanced at Fu Qiyuan. Fu Qiyuan's expression was calm and composed, and Qin Feng saw no peculiar expression on his face.
Those ink-black eyes seemed to contain a trace of amusement, yet the amusement was cold, carrying an aloof chill that was cruelly indifferent. Dark as the vast starry sky, they seemed endless, cold as a mountain stream's icy spring, devoid of any warmth.
Somehow, a chill surged from the soles of Qin Feng's feet straight to his brain, an oppressive dread making him shiver and his body stiffen involuntarily.
Fu Qiyuan still didn't speak. Qin Feng's face turned somewhat pale, and sweat broke out finely on his forehead. Just when he felt his breathing thinning, the overwhelming sense of suffocation abruptly disappeared.
