PREVIEW

... novels would make you believe.

The sour taste of blood, mixed with the strange black ichor that carried a sticky, bitter taste that flowed into my mouth, my throat.

A taste that lingered on my tongue.

A scent scorched the back of my nose.

Yet the semi-conscious Qinglan didn’t care—her hands gripped the back of my hair, pulling on it hard enough to tear a few clumps out.

"Ngh...!"

Our eyes met...

...but her pupils weren’t there.

...

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