บท 182: Chapter 179: I, Wang Qizheng, Have Always Had a Heart for the Art of Escape

In a secluded hall at the mountain top.

Three people were seated around a table, and beside them, a figure was busily working.

Zhang Fei Xuan was shaking a folding fan, nodding his head to and fro, quietly humming a tune from some unknown opera, like a languid young noble.

Gao Sishu sat there, focused on a trap-like device, from which green vapors occasionally drifted.

Lingdang sat cross-legged, holding two small dolls that were jostling each other, with a crackling sound coming from her mouth.

Wang Qizheng was placing several items on the table.

One of them was a cup, filled with a thick substance that resembled human blood.

On a plate, there was some unknown flesh and bone, still bleeding.

There were also two wooden bowls; one contained a green, oily liquid that was steaming as if it harbored some corrosive poison.

The other bowl was filled with a black paste of unknown composition.