The rain had ceased, leaving only the lingering dampness floating in the air. Hong Zhuang removed the cloth from her eyes and stared blankly at the boy, whose life or death was unknown, and whose return was uncertain, her heart trembling.
Her hand, gripping the knife, tightened then tightened again as she muttered, "How dare he..."
Si Li's eyes remained covered, her mouth curling into a smile, suggesting she was in a good mood, "Without fear in his heart, naturally he fears nothing."
The Futu Water Prison in the sky began to collapse one by one, turning into torrential rain, and the boy with the Pici Bird had already become a bloody landscape painting.
The bone-chilling rain, tainted with formidable dragon power, pattered down, washing over Baili An's body.
Each drop pounded on him like a heavy hammer, making a thudding, hollow sound.
