The cauldron lid was mottled with cracks, ancient and vast, stained with blood as it fell from the night sky, the spiritual essence flowing between the engravings was very dim, like a candle in the wind slicing through the night fog.
Qin Ming's heartstrings were taut, feeling somewhat suffocated in his chest, looking at the bloodstained lid, his emotions fluctuated violently, with tangible symbols intertwining in his eyes.
He was afraid that something he was unwilling to accept might have already happened.
The lid returning like this, could it be that Qing Yue hadn't reached Doushuai Temple and was intercepted and killed?
If she had arrived, yet still bloodshed descended... the consequences would be even more terrifying.
An uncontrollable chill seeped into Qin Ming's heart, as he reached out to catch the broken artifact.
The lid seemed to have burnt out, quickly dimming, losing its expected spiritual essence gloss, spinning out of control, falling toward the courtyard.
