In the dim light, the neon sign inside the tavern flickered on and off, casting Xia Pingzhou's face in an ever-changing light. In contrast, Yanmo Lin's expression remained indifferent from start to finish.
On the blade of the tachi, as clear as crystal, reflected her pale face and pitch-black eyes.
Xia Pingzhou looked at the demon blade pressing against his neck and could feel a chill emanating from the blade.
As the blade approached, it seemed as if wailing, howling, and weeping spirits echoed in his ears. This was a kind of spiritual erosion. Once one approached the tachi, they would be disturbed by the ghost soul residing in the blade. The closer one got, the deeper the erosion.
He found it hard to imagine that an exorcist's celestial driver would appear in such a form and pondered the mental torment Yanmo Lin must endure daily with the demon blade.
