Xiao Yangu poured a bottle of strong liquor on Helian Yu. The liquor made him tremble all over. A mixture of pus, blood and dirt flowed out of the wound and seeped into the wild grass under his feet.
Her black and white Taoist robe, which was exactly the same as Duan Qing's, was stained red with blood, and part of the edges and hem were burned by the flames. After all, they were in the secluded ravine at the foot of Wenchan Mountain, and there was no one around. Xiao Yangu did not intend to bear the blame any longer, so she raised her hand to tear off the mask on her face.
"Slow...down."
Helian Yu, who had been silent all the way, suddenly spoke.
He used his remaining left hand to stroke the mask that had been almost cracked and deformed by the high temperature. His fingers smoothed out the curled cracks bit by bit. His eyes were so dark that he seemed unable to see anything clearly. Xiao Yangu felt that the hand was like a poisonous snake crawling on his face, and his back went cold.
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