She wasn't too dull after all.
Although Olyntel, the church's visitor, was nowhere near sharp-eyed, he was at least cooperative when guided.
Looking at Jian lying on the ceiling, Fu Qian offered a word of praise, deeply pleased by how things had turned out.
Admittedly, this noble young lady had been having a rather rough day.
But on the bright side, at least her exquisite silk nightgown had apparently been affected along with the rest of her, and had "fallen" onto the ceiling with her.
Otherwise, the view from below would have been rather indecent.
To some extent, this confirmed the earlier impression: the effect of the edict was similar to being applied to a conceptual target, rather than to flesh and blood as commonly understood.
Fu Qian was quite confident that even in this miraculous situation, if he took another blood sample from Jian and examined it, the result would still be perfectly normal.
Meanwhile, on Jian's exposed feet, patterns like the ones that had appeared on Olyntel were beginning to form, crisscrossing and joining together.
There was one notable difference, though: these patterns didn't shine nearly as brightly.
They were dark red, tinged with a metallic sheen, as if a vortex in her flesh had spread to the surface of her skin—strange and elegant.
Of course, that was just his personal aesthetic judgment.
Clearly, most of the people in the bedroom found the scene more horrifying than anything else.
Olyntel was among them.
"How can this be... It's clearly similar to an edict..."
It was plain that his worldview had taken a hit.
"Sir!"
Jian, still on the ceiling, had obviously lost her composure. She struggled to lean her head down and called out.
No one could blame her. Gravity was an innate part of her experience, and