In the depths of darkness, a faint green phosphorescence flickered, and the old Enchanting Demon muttered maniacally, her piercing voice echoing eerily along the brook's babble.
In Ning Feiyan's pupils, there was the dim light of night. Her gaze was cold as frost, like the haunting chill wind across the river. Yet, her face mocked with a sneer, she said: "Why so nervous? In this world where wolves and tigers roam, where children kill fathers and mothers devour children, kin slaughtering one another is not rare. After all, not everyone can be a mother."
She no longer glanced at the dismembered child's skeleton in the pit, her face smiling as she bent down.
The old Enchanting Demon felt as though facing a formidable enemy, terrified and trying to shrink back.
But countless pure white cocoons densely emerged from the soil behind her, the cocoons blossomed, turning into butterflies with flickering purple wings, releasing an eerie fragrance.
