No wonder this vengeful spirit had targeted Wang Fugui's sons for revenge. He wanted him to suffer the pain of losing his children and leave him with no one to inherit the family estate.
After recounting the past, Wang Fucai was still weeping and kowtowing beside the well. Tears and snot mingled with the dirt on the ground, leaving his plump face filthy.
His eyes were dull and lifeless, filled with remorse.
It was not only for his three young sons who had drowned, but also for his own past mistake.
For forty years, he had avoided remembering that painful incident, sometimes consoling himself over and over that it had not been his fault.
Thinking about it now, he had truly been deceiving himself.
"Little brother, I really didn't mean to."
"Little brother, take me away. Please don't hurt him anymore. He's your family too..."
It sounded less like a plea than unconscious muttering, as though his soul had already left his body.
Xuantian sighed and was about to offer a few words of comfort when the steady dripping in his ears abruptly stopped, as though...
The climbing spirit had vanished inside the well.
Or perhaps—he had climbed out of the dry well!
Xuantian was not the only one who thought of that.
When the dripping stopped, all eight people present instinctively looked toward the dry well amid the ruins.
When the dripping stopped, everyone present instinctively looked toward the dry well amid the ruins.
It was still that same terrifying well, except...
A white-clad figure with disheveled hair wriggled his upper body out, then slowly raised his short legs and eased them onto the rim.
His movements seemed impossibly slow at first, yet in the blink of an eye, the small white-clad figure was standing outside the well.
Moreover,