The atmosphere of silence was as sticky as asphalt. Sikong Lan's eyes gradually turned cold. When the moonlight outside the skylight was obscured by dark clouds and the treasury plunged into complete darkness,
he suddenly stepped on the ground with his toes, his whole body flipped backward, his black boots kicked the wall twice in succession, borrowing force to leap upward. His left hand grasped the beam like a monkey, while his right hand detached a small cloth bag from his waist, swiftly throwing it out.
Sikong Lan was unsure of the identity of the black-clothed person in front of him, but from the long breathing of the opponent, he could sense this person had deep inner strength. In a solo fight, being not good at weapons, he was definitely not an opponent.
Indeed, as he expected,
in the pitch-dark environment, Zhang Fuluan pinpointed Sikong Lan's location accurately by the sound and air flow direction. His left hand supported the shelf,
