The wailing of a suona rose from the deep shadows at the foot of the mountain, stretching straight up its slopes.
Down at the mountain's foot, the Steward Hall, which was normally brightly lit, was now a dim, blurry shape. It gave off a strange, heavy feeling, as if it were steeped in ink.
Song Ciwan frowned slightly. With her Spiritual Sense, a sense of unease suddenly arose within her.
'But this is Wangjiang Mountain, the main gathering place for the Cultivators of Pinglan City. What kind of evil spirit would possibly dare to show itself here?'
Song Ciwan stood still, listening for a moment. Amidst the wail of the suona, she could faintly make out what sounded like the soft singing of a child's voice.
