Lin Feng continued leafing through Xie Shiba's notes and found more hexagrams.
But judging from the handwriting, Xie Shiba had written this information faster and faster.
Xie Shiba must have entered the Mount-Viewing Kiln Factory and seen more incredible things.
His handwriting was a wild scrawl.
Then he brought up an important piece of information.
"Need soil."
Lin Feng said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on those words: need soil.
"Soil is a universal binding agent. It was the reason this kiln factory was built.
I used the soil here to mend my injuries, but things aren't looking good.
There's something wrong with this soil. I haven't found a Sacrifice—and I can't exactly sacrifice him—(a long scratch, as though he had been writing too fast, or perhaps his attention had wandered), they're coming soon.
I'm running a bit of a fever, and the side effects of this soil are far too severe.
I've started feeling the side effects: a thirst for blood, severe delirium. That should be the right term. My older sister is a Psychiatry Department doctor, after all.
I just hope he's lucky enough to reach the Yellow River before I lose my mind.
If all else fails, leave the Mount-Viewing Kiln Factory and find a chicken. A dog will do, too."
Lin Feng turned more pages and found that much of the writing afterward was soaked in blood.
The heavy bloodstains made the original writing difficult to decipher. The farther he went, the more blood there was.
Lin Feng closed the notebook and focused on the word "he."
A third-person "he" had appeared in Xie Shiba's notebook. Who was he?
Lin Feng's gaze settled on the sender's name on the package: someone named Han.
Was it Professor Han?
How had the two become entangled?
And soil was