Lu Shaohua stood frozen. Her lips trembled as her eyes darted from the unconscious man on the ground to Wei Ji's calm figure.
The air was thick with the scent of crushed flowers and faint traces of blood.
The stranger lay sprawled on the dirt, his robes wrinkled, his sword half-buried in the grass. She blinked rapidly, her voice finally breaking the silence.
"What happened? Why… why did he just collapse like that?"
Wei Ji turned his head slowly, his expression unreadable. "No idea," he said, his tone calm, almost indifferent. Then he raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.
A faint rustle echoed from the garden.
The vines and roots beneath the soil trembled, then burst forth, wrapping around the man's limbs like living snakes.
Lu Shaohua gasped as the plant dragged the unconscious man backward, pulling him across the dirt. "Young master Han Ji—"
Wei Ji simply watched, his eyes half-lidded. "Don't worry. He won't die. The earth will keep him quiet for now."
