Meng Zhao paced around the room for roughly the time it took to burn half a stick of incense. Having observed enough, he returned to a soft couch in the inner room and sat cross-legged, regulating his breath until his whole body grew supple and relaxed, like clouds and water.
At the same time, he meditated, emptied his soul, and sank into deep rest.
Lost in a hazy state, unaware of time passing, he was roused from meditation by a series of footsteps outside the wooden cabin.
His hearing was exceptional, and he could easily tell that one of those footsteps belonged to Ji Rushuang. As a pregnant woman, her build differed from ordinary people's, and so did her footsteps. Moreover, they had been together constantly these past few days, so he was very familiar with them.
After several rhythmic knocks, Meng Zhao went to open the door. The people before him left quite an impression.
The man at the forefront was tall, about the same height as Meng Zhao. His short hair somewhat resembled Meng Chuan's, though it was streaked with silver and black, clearly showing that he was no longer young and had long labored and depleted his vital energies.
His features were rather gentle, his regular facial features even carrying a trace of handsome refinement. Unfortunately, his rough skin diminished much of that mature uncle-like charm, replacing it with the majesty of an elder and the wildness shared by all Dan Chi people.
A handsome middle-aged man with good foundations, ruined by his environment—that was Meng Zhao's first impression.
At the same time, Meng Zhao observed that this handsome middle-aged man was quite strong. Based on his perception of the man's aura, his qi and blood resembled a furnace: surging and vast, yet tightly contained. His explosive