Sigh.
Inhale.
Between the mouth and nose, the White Dragon moves in circles.
Three steps away, the nine animal-headed candles did not flicker at all, the light on Fubo's knees flowed rhythmically with the breathing. On this waning moon night, Liang Qu replaced sleep with meditation, nurturing his spirit and storing up energy.
Gurgle gurgle, the water boiled and steamed.
Long Eying set down the brush, picked up the teapot, and poured a cup of the Hanging Temple's specialty, Little Enlightenment Tea.
This task should have been Otter Kai's, but ever since being knocked out and dragged back by Scarface, he had been disappearing mysteriously, vanishing before dawn without a trace, whereabouts unknown.
In the same small courtyard not a hundred yards away.
Beneath the dim candlelight, Cha Qing recited the fundamental purpose of the mission to the west, word by word.
