Duomian Ghost held one hand in front of him while the other was tucked behind his back, and he asked loudly:
"Min Qianhu, are you leaving the city too?"
Chen Yi's eyes slightly lifted, a teasing smirk curling at the corner of his lips. Duomian Ghost instantly felt his hairs stand on end—the man's gaze was cold and piercing, like a menacing dragon, stirring up tempests purely for selfish desires, seeking to corrupt and transform.
Duomian Ghost slightly turned his sleeve, as if ready to draw something hidden within, yet his voice remained calm as he said, "Min Qianhu?"
Chen Yi finally spoke, his tone slow and measured: "No need to keep acting, Duomian Ghost."
The color on Duomian Ghost's face shifted dramatically. Behind him, rustling sounds erupted as agents revealed wary expressions, several of them already flipping into wagons and cutting the ropes that bound their blade-wielding comrades.
The mountain pathway of Jinmen sank swiftly into an autumn hue of murderous tension.
