Wei Ji stood in the shadows, his back pressed against a mossy rock, the faint smell of sap and damp earth filling the air. His eyes were closed, but his senses stretched across the forest like threads of silk.
Through those invisible threads, he could feel everything — the heartbeat of every leaf, the faint movement of insects, the rush of someone running through the undergrowth.
He let out a quiet breath. "So, they really sent another spiritual plant cultivator to replace me," he murmured, voice calm, yet cold. "Well then... I'll let my little soul-seed brother deal with him too."
Far ahead, Han Zukong was already moving through the forest. His steps were light, his body flickering between trees as though melting into them. His face was pale, his breaths shallow, but his eyes were bright — too bright, for someone who had nearly died days ago.
