Bo Yi glanced at the three of them a few times before losing interest and looking away.
But when he looked into the backyard again, his expression suddenly froze. "Huh?"
The center of the backyard was empty.
The woman was gone.
"Aaaaaah-!" A terrified scream suddenly rang out nearby.
Huang Xiaolu sat sprawled on the ground, his face filled with terror. A dark wet patch slowly spread across his pale trousers, and the foul stench of urine began to drift through the air.
With a peculiar expression, Bo Yi pinched his nose.
Huang Xiaolu no longer had any attention to spare for his trousers. He was practically scared out of his mind. When the opera singing abruptly stopped, he had already realized something was wrong. But before he could act, a length of white flowing sleeve had drifted down before his eyes.
Huang Xiaolu's heart immediately began pounding wildly. Rationally, he knew he should hurry back and leave, get far away from that sleeve, ignore it, and not look up. Yet as he slowly backed away, step by step, he couldn't stop his gaze from flicking upward-
A deathly pale face hung upside down above his head, barely a palm's thickness away. Huang Xiaolu could even feel the chill drifting off her. Those hollow eyes stared fixedly at him without moving, but when their gazes met, that red mouth, densely stitched shut, suddenly began to curl upward in a slow, delighted smile.
A hand that was little more than skin and bone emerged from the flowing sleeve, looking fragile enough to snap at the slightest touch. Its scarlet fingertips were long and pointed, and the dark purple veins extending from them resembled strange patterns, beautiful yet eerie. Unfortunately, several haphazard, thumb-width bands of deep purple bruising cut across the wrist,