"Xia Fei, you've taken Amethyst before, haven't you?"
Xia Fei shook his head. "I'm not sure what you're talking about. You don't have much time, so I hope that you stop talking about irrelevant things. All I care about now is your identity, your motives, and why you're spying on me."
It was inaccurate to say that Xia Fei did not have a menacing aura. Although he was still quite young, every time he got serious, the air would be enveloped by palpable killing intent. After all, not many people in this world had been through hell, but Xia Fei just happened to be one of those few.
Anyone who made a trip back from hell would have this unique quality. This quality was inviting yet dangerous—something no words could describe, but if it had to be put in word, 'despair' would probably be the closest one.