On the ground.
The molten gold vertical pupils of Fang Qingyu clearly reflected the countless threatening giant branches pressing down from the sky, and also captured the deep purple stream of light desperately fleeing under the shadow of the treetops.
So he didn't even look at the impending disaster above his head.
Slightly tilting his head, his gaze fell on the small figure floating beside him.
"Xiaojiang," Fang Qingyu's voice was as calm as if discussing the weather, "you hold it off for now."
Then his eyes returned to the fleeing purple light and added, "I'll be right back."
As soon as the words were spoken, Fang Qingyu's figure had already vanished.
Jiang Weiqing's clear red eyes showed no surprise or worry, only an icy focus.
The small body, at the moment Fang Qingyu disappeared, had already floated lightly several meters upwards.
