The moonlight was like frost, pouring down on the dark street, coating the blue stone path with a layer of silver sheen.
Qin An suddenly stopped, his sword-like eyebrows slightly knitted, his gaze sweeping like lightning towards the stumbling beggar approaching him.
This person neither had the aura fluctuations of a cultivator nor the evil aura entangled with pseudo-gods, yet he walked straight towards him.
The matter of the Demon Transformation Pool was urgent and could not withstand the slightest error.
Qin An casually placed his hand on the hilt of the Cold Star Saber.
The beggar, trembling slightly, moved closer, intimidated by the sharp aura emanating from Qin An, not daring even to lift his head: "Are you... Mr. Qin?"
Qin An frowned and said, "Who are you?"
The beggar shakily put down a coarse cloth bundle, his voice trembling: "Someone... gave this little person some silver to hand this over to you..."
