A candle on the stone table crackled, a sputtering spark stretching Ye Fan's shadow long against the stone wall. Sitting cross-legged on a rush mat, his eyelashes cast butterfly-wing shadows beneath his eyelids, and fine beads of sweat dotted his temples—a sign of overexerted spiritual focus.
Qín Wǎnshuāng leaned against the stone door, her silver spear resting diagonally against the ground, its tip still smeared with half a black scab from a Corpse Puppet. Her gaze shifted constantly between Ye Fan and the Green Jade Case, her ear tips twitching. Aside from the crackle of the candle, only Ye Fan's shallow breathing filled the secret chamber.
Suddenly, she saw Ye Fan's Adam's apple bob slightly, and his eyelashes fluttered violently, as if his fingertips had been scalded by something. "Ye Lang?" she instinctively lowered her voice, dragging her silver spear across the ground and leaving a white scratch.
Chapter 188