The three of them, Sang Que, dismounted from the carriage and gazed into the distance.
The blood mist was dense, and a ruined city loomed faintly at the edge of their vision. Most of the city walls had collapsed, bricks scattered everywhere. Weak wailing of ghosts sounded from the mist, the wind swirling around the blood mist, mingled with whispers of ghosts.
Qin Ze stood beside Sang Que, looking sorrowful, instinctively grasping the small wooden dagger hanging from his waist. Before his eyes were the sights and sounds of his wife and two children.
Xia Chan also sniffled, murmuring softly, "Uncle Yushan..."
Although Hua Qianmian said nothing, she furrowed her brows tightly, reminiscing about the many people and events in Wangshan City, thinking of the children in the Orphanage. That ghost disaster had claimed many lives; she had risked her life to save only a part of them. She wondered if those children who escaped were still safe now.
