"Wolf, Wolf, What Time Is It?"
No one answered.
The child's voice asked a third time, "Wolf, Wolf, What Time Is It?"
"It's the beginning of the Hour of the Dragon." A deep, wild voice rang out, its trailing notes faintly mixed with a wolf's howl.
Li Qingxian glanced at the sun's position. It was roughly seven in the morning.
Then he lightly twitched his nose, his brows knitting tightly.
The sensation felt familiar, yet he could not remember where he had encountered it before.
"Something's wrong..." Han Anbo looked around suspiciously.
Suddenly, the sound of cloth being torn rang out.
With a ripping sound, the spatial crack at the center of the altar abruptly tore open, as if a gate had been opened in the middle of the grand arena.
A black void, glittering with starlight.
Then, countless children came cheering out.
Some wore red, some green, some were dressed all in white, others all in black. The youngest were three or four, while the oldest seemed to be only seven or eight.
"Time to play... Hahaha... Hehehe..."
Hundreds of thousands of children poured forth like a tide.
Like the gates of a school at dismissal.
A dense, bizarre aura rushed straight at them.
Li Qingxian and Han Anbo exchanged a glance.
At the same time, some high-ranking examiners actually rolled up their sleeves or even tore open their clothes in public to inspect themselves.
Li Qingxian hurriedly searched through his sleeves.
The Yellow Springs Cloud and five-petaled Red Flower at the crook of his left arm were still there, stubborn as ever. No new marks had appeared, but both imprints were slowly fading, as though they were shrinking back into his flesh.
Li Qingxian checked his chest again. Nothing.
Then he rolled up his trouser leg and saw