Qilin, who was sitting outside Mu Yuanzhi’s room, was fast asleep, leaning against a pillar with his sword held close—a weapon meant more for intimidation than anything else.
Suddenly, footsteps—so faint they were almost imperceptible—echoed in the silent night.
Qilin’s eyes snapped open. In the blink of an eye, he had drawn his sword and held the blade against the intruder’s throat.
Chapter 153