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Qilin’s voice echoed in the empty forest of stone pillars before quieting.
About ten seconds passed.
Hum. A one-meter-long narrow crack appeared in the dim space before Qilin, making crackling noises like strayed currents. Then a bloodied frail hand reached out, trying but failing to find purchase. The hand pulled back inch by inch, and the crack got smaller and smaller like it was going to zip back up.
Qilin frowned and went up to grab the hand, yanking it out.
Hiss. The arm was pulled out, followed by Sir Jiang’s head. The left side of his face was all charred and bloodied.
Qilin had anticipated the condition Yan Liang would be in and didn’t seem surprised. He continued to pull the old man out, and three seconds later, Sir...
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