The air fell silent.
A handsome, spirited white-robed, black-haired Confucian Scholar stood face to face with a transparent woman in an azure and gold Immortal Dress of unknown origin.
Two beings, face to face.
The atmosphere was quiet and eerie.
Zhao Rong did not speak, and neither did the transparent woman.
The former stared, unblinking, at the latter's dress hem, as if afraid that should he blink, the transparent woman might once again vanish or suddenly draw near.
At some point, Zhao Rong's back had become drenched in cold sweat, soaking his white robes.
The chilling wind from the distant Sin Abyss swept into the center of this desolate ancient city, maintaining its bone-chilling cold. It brazenly crept down the back of his wet, sweaty clothes, as if a barrel of ice cubes had been dumped on his back, stirring frantically in the icy cold.
Zhao Rong maintained a calm expression.
If the enemy doesn't move, I won't move.
Time passed second by second.
