Snow lightly drifted in the biting winds.
Daoist Wu sat on the cold ground, his legs splayed out in front of him. His face burned with resentment and his body was covered in blood as he issued curse after curse at the sky.
But he did not dare to move, not even lower his head, because the coldness at his neck was growing increasingly vivid.
It wasn't because of the snowflakes landing on his collar.
It was because An Hua was standing behind him, her eyes fixed on his neck, her hands tightly gripping a sharp dagger.
……
……
Wang Zhice stared into Chen Changsheng's eyes, his brows slightly rising and his gaze turning incomparably sharp.
When he saw Chen Changsheng appear in the Mausoleum of Books, he knew that Daoist Wu had failed.
But he did not care, as he believed that with Daoist Wu's age and reputation, the Li Palace might imprison him, but they would not humiliate him.
He had never imagined that Chen Changsheng would use Daoist Wu's life to threaten him.