The north wind howled mournfully, as if a heartbroken person were weeping.
The sky was shrouded in a dismal fog and sorrowful clouds, emanating a boundless chill in the air.
One after another, pallid faces, all bloodless, shuddered continuously, staring intently at the person lying in the coffin.
Even Jiang Dali's complexion wasn't looking good.
To be precise, after seeing the fatal injury on Murong Fu's corpse, his face turned as ugly as if someone had punched him hard.
Preserved in ice within the coffin, Murong Fu's body hadn't decayed even after several days.
And the body largely retained the state it had been in prior to death.
Yet just below the fifth rib on the left side of the chest, between the "Ru Root" and "Qi Gate" acupoints, there was a distinct purple-blue fist mark.
Jiang Dali reached out to touch it, and his own pridefully large fists were only about the same size as this purple-blue imprint.
