Their jaws emitted dislocated popping sounds, their necks bent forward at a reverse angle, their noses almost touching the back of Lin Yi's hand.
"I beg you... Please keep writing... Where is it, where is it...?!"
The nineteen faces all turned incredibly sorrowful, as if they were losing something.
Lin Yi gritted his teeth and smudged those writings into a vortex.
When he had almost finished smudging, he turned to the second line and wrote a sentence:
"Those Who Chase the Light Through the Fog End Up as Phantoms."
"No—!" that row of faces screeched in horror, with tears mixed with bizarre liquid seeping from their bulging eyes.
The next moment, these nineteen figures trembled like skinned shadows having their spines removed, then gradually dispersed back to their original seats, continuing to stand there like gravestones.
But from this moment on, their eyes all changed, filled with anger and sorrow, and a bit of fear and dread...
