Mo Xuanyu was sitting on the floor in front of a fragment of a mirror. The room was a mess, but the cultivator was diligently applying red eye shadow around his eyes. Hearing the sound of the door opening, Mo Xuanyu looked back. Seeing you, the guy rose to his feet.

“You came! You came! Look how I put on my makeup! How do you like it?”

His face was completely painted with white, and the makeup itself was more reminiscent of the makeup of the spirit of a hanged man. But he was so happy.