Dawn pierced through the thin mist, rousing the Imperial Hunting Grounds from slumber. Rustling sounds began to rise from the camp, and curls of cooking smoke drifted upward, mingling with the fresh scents of earth and vegetation.
Tang San stepped out of his tent and took a deep breath of the cool air. Though a trace of lingering fatigue remained between his brows, his eyes were much clearer, like a dust-covered sword that had been wiped clean. He instinctively moved his right arm. Beneath the bandages, his muscles sent back a familiar ache and stabbing pain, but compared to the bone-deep agony of the previous night, pain so intense it had nearly driven him to collapse, it was a world apart.
Most of the stubborn lightning power in his meridians had been forcibly dispersed. Though he was still far from fully recovered, and he could still feel blockage and pain whenever his Soul Power circulated, at least that arm, which had nearly been sentenced to death, once again had the possibility of bearing strength. That was enough.
His gaze swept across the camp. Dai Mubai was already doing morning exercises in the open space, his fierce punches and kicks stirring gusts of wind. Ma Hongjun yawned as he shuffled sleepily toward the dining hall. Xiao Wu and Ning Rongrong were huddled together, whispering about something and letting out silvery laughter. Zhu Zhuqing sat quietly to one side, wiping her short sword. Oscar was hard at work making the first batch of Recovery Sausages.
Everything was as usual, full of life and vigor.
His gaze finally landed on the slender figure carrying a basin of clean water toward the tents—Xiao Xiaoxiao. She saw him as well, pausing slightly before continuing toward her own tent as if nothing had happened. Only the