Zhao Rong opened his eyes.
He saw the brilliant starry sky.
Oh, no.
It turned out to be a dome embedded with luminous pearls and gemstones against a pitch-black background.
Zhao Rong lay inside a coffin, his eyes blankly staring at the dome, his pupils slightly unfocused, as if his brain froze for a few seconds.
It was like dazing after waking up, or savoring the remnants of a dream.
"Oh, the Young Master Zhao is awake?"
At this moment, a teasing voice from Gui echoed within the Heart Lake.
Zhao Rong's sword-like eyebrows slightly furrowed, ignoring the Sword Spirit. First, he reached with his left hand towards his body and felt a smooth yet damp silk cloth, as if clothes washed and hung to dry but still slightly wet.
Zhao Rong sat up from the coffin, looking down at the silk cloth clutched tightly in his left hand.
It turned out to be a red dress, seemingly stained with blood or some other liquid, slightly wet.
