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“Young Master, there’s nonstop fighting in the dense woods up ahead. The scent of blood coming from there is heavy.”
“Dense woods?” The youth glanced toward the surface of Three-Heart Lake. “Did those crows say dense woods?”
He lifted his chin and took a few deep sniffs of the air. “Well, the imperial nectar scent is incredibly strong here. On that point, the crows weren’t lying.”
He walked a few steps closer to the lakeshore, then sprang up into a tall tree—the very one He Lingchuan had used to anchor his web—and inhaled again.
With his eyes closed, his nose seemed to see the shape of scent itself. What he sensed was a vast swath of imperial nectar residue hanging over the lake, richer than anything he had ever encountered, and laced through it were a few faint strands of dark, bloody musk.
The youth opened his eyes. “Imperial nectar paste?”
When something got too intense, it flipped to the opposite extreme. To his hypersensitive sense of smell, a fragrance this rich crossed over into something almost rank.
There was no question about it in his mind. He was certain that the scent had to be coming from a substance even denser than ordinary imperial nectar.
It was a scent no living creature could resist,...
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