Deep within the savage wound on her chest, the confrontation between the Black Fog and the pale golden power of rules remained silent. But at least her aura was no longer as precarious as it had been when the memories ended, as though she might completely dissipate at any moment.
Yet the weakness and exhaustion that had seeped into her bones remained too profound to dispel.
She slowly raised a hand, the movement sluggish and laborious, as if every tiny motion pulled at immense pain and drained her strength.
As her fingertips shifted slightly, the ancient bronze longsword that had been quietly floating above her palm suddenly trembled and let out an almost inaudible hum, as though responding to its master's will.
The next moment, the blade streaked through the dim light and flew lightly yet steadily toward Shen Yi.
Shen Yi frowned and instinctively reached out to catch it.
The hilt was neither icy nor heavy as he had expected. Instead, it carried a warm, strange sensation, as though it had fused with his skin.
The eight ancient characters on the blade shimmered faintly in the dim light.
"What do you mean by this?"
Holding the sword, Shen Yi turned to Feng Qingyao and asked in a low voice.
He did not believe Feng Qingyao would hand him this sword, one of immense significance that had even triggered a catastrophe Beyond the World, for no reason.
On Feng Qingyao's pale face, her dim eyes quietly watched Shen Yi. There was no probing, no calculation in them, only the calmness of entrusting him with an important responsibility.
She spoke softly, her voice still hoarse and weak.
"I will need to spend quite a long time dealing with this wound and restoring my strength."
She paused, her gaze falling upon the