The clouds hang heavy with gloom.
Zuo Qiutian still stared dazedly at the water by the pond. Next to him, there was no swordsman lounging against the railing—only a person sitting in a rocking chair, their features obscured by a veil, making it impossible to see them clearly.
"Mr. Zuo, the Prophet spoke to me yesterday, saying today's a day of great misfortune. I'm afraid things won't go smoothly for you."
Zuo Qiutian replied nonchalantly, "Timing is unpredictable; the Prophet's words are not necessarily certain."
"Hahaha."
The person in the pavilion laughed heartily, "If the Prophet heard you say that, he would surely blow his beard and glare."
At that moment, a girl in a goose-yellow coat came bounding joyfully from the side, looking very cheerful.
"Master! Mr. Zuo! I've got the item!"
Zuo Qiutian turned to face the pavilion, showing a slightly triumphant smile.
"Good!"
