The subtle sound of footsteps crushing the scorched earth was infinitely magnified in Ye Fan's ears. He could clearly perceive the fingertips of Su Qingxue resting against the back of his hand trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the coiled tension of a Hanmei Pavilion assassin ready to strike.
Lin Zhaoyue's scabbard remained pressed against his lower back, its hum growing sharper as the approaching presence drew near, sounding like an ice pick scraping across glazed glass. Chǔ Hóngzhuāng's Golden Silkworm wove a half-inch golden web near his feet, poisonous mist seeping through the cracks of the broken wall until even the air took on a fishy sweetness. Qín Wǎnshuāng's array flags condensed faint cyan patterns on the ground, and he could feel his own breathing being kneaded into wind by the array.
"They're here." Su Qingxue's whisper brushed against his earlobe, carrying a very faint scent of aloeswood.
Chapter 332