Yuelai Pavilion.
This was an unremarkable little tavern in the Imperial City, frequented generally by penniless travelers seeking refuge.
As a measure to conceal his presence, Ye Qingyu had secretly taken Little Lin to hide here.
"Why has there been no word from that useless Jin Buhuan? Could it be that Xiao Yi has already compromised?" Ye Qingyu sat on the Taishi Chair, his legs crossed, an evil gleam in his eyes as he scanned the corner where Tong Zhan and Little Lin had been bound, their cultivation sealed.
Little Lin was covered in blood, barely clinging to life.
Tied to a rack.
Beneath the rack was an iron bowl, the ticking sound resulting from the blood dripping from Little Lin's chest where a scale had been gouged out. Given the bloodstains around the edges of the bowl, it was clearly not the first bowlful!
"Oh, filled up again?"
