Mountain wind swept pine needles across Ye Fan's brow. He could clearly hear the sound of his own heartbeat—not from fear, but from a familiar sense of urgency. When he was ambushed and hunted down in his past life, it was also a night like this, and the smell of raw vegetation was mixed with the reek of dried blood. Only back then, he was all alone, but now... Out of the corner of his eye, he swept his gaze over the figures half-hidden behind the boulders, and his throat bobbed.
"Zhaoyue, keep your sword pressure down by three parts," he suddenly spoke, his voice as light as snow falling on pine branches.
Lin Zhaoyue was just pressing her sword Qi into the cliff face, and at these words, her fingertips trembled—her sword spine had originally been condensed with a thin layer of frost, but at this moment that frost cascaded down with a rustling sound, melting into tiny water trails on the ground. This was the outward manifestation of emotion unique to a sword cultivator, something she hadn't even noticed herself.
Chapter 359