Han Yu remained seated in silence for a long while, the flicker of the talisman flame casting dim shadows across the cave.
The last of Ju Fan's letters rested before him, their inked lines carrying the weight of a dead clan's tragedy. Yet, something about the whole scene still refused to make sense.
He looked around once more.
The air here was thick, metallic, and stank faintly of coagulated blood. Splashes of dark red stained the rough walls. A small pool in the middle of the chamber shimmered under the talisman's glow, its surface sluggish with a faint crimson tint.
'If Ju Fan had lived here, why did it look like this?'
From what Han Yu had seen during their fight, Ju Fan had not appeared to be a man who wallowed in filth. His robe, although a bit bloodied and dirted from battle, had been kept relatively clean.
