Lan Zhengqing had already cleared everyone out of his residence.
So.
No one would see his brutal side of killing.
He roamed about his residence unchecked, Lin Fan's blood tracing path after path on the ground, like cursive script penned in fresh blood.
Chilling.
Terrifying.
Vicious.
Sinister.
The residence had no light, steeped in darkness.
In such an environment.
Lan Zhengqing's figure was like a vengeful spirit creeping out of hell, dragging a recently feasted-on corpse, sending shivers down spines.
His face was expressionless, dragging Lin Fan with one hand, the other behind his back, walking with steady steps, yet still unable to shed his fabricated scholarly demeanor.
Sometimes.
Pretending for too long makes it hard to discern which is the real self.
His mind was a bit blurry, at times thinking he ought to be the refined Lan Zhengqing, while at other times feeling his violent nature unchanged.
