The crisp snap of a bamboo branch pierced the ear like a fine needle. As Ye Fan turned, the wind stirred by his movement whipped the stray locks of hair across his forehead. In the night, his pupils constricted to pinpricks—five paces away in the shadows stood a figure wrapped in dark martial attire, a slender, poison-etched short blade hanging at his waist, his breathing suppressed to the frequency of a thread.
"Zhaoyue." The tail end of his low command had not yet faded when the faint sound of a scabbard scraping came from behind him. Lin Zhaoyue's Primordial Sword had already cleared its scabbard by three inches, the sword qi laden with frost rolling past the back of his neck like a taut string.
Clearly, the person in black had not expected to be exposed on the spot. Tipping his left foot lightly against the ground, he drifted toward the bamboo wall to the left like a fallen leaf caught in the night wind.
Chapter 388