He pulled hard, and the weight seemed manageable. The man moved swiftly, climbing up along the vine. Mo Nanjue held his breath; he knew the wall was dusted with powder, but there was no other way in except to climb.
The wall was incredibly high, at least over five meters. Mo Nanjue's long arms hooked onto the railing at the edge, flipping himself over from the other side.
He landed with a sudden thud, his hand bracing himself for balance, and immediately felt a sharp pain.
Mo Nanjue lifted his hand. Although he was wearing leather gloves, the poison powder still seeped through the skin. He knelt on one knee, biting off the glove with his teeth, and indeed, a deep red mark on his palm was spreading rapidly.
The man's brows furrowed; he quickly drew a dagger from his elbow, then stabbed it into the red mark on his palm!
