Life was beautiful.
Dusk had just begun to fall, and the city lights were coming on. It was the time when every household fired up the stove and cooked, offering the stomach its last comfort of the day.
The doors and windows of these old houses were never very tight to begin with. For Fu Qian, all it took was a casual breath to tell what the neighbors on either side were having for dinner—and even whether someone had mistaken light soy sauce for dark soy sauce.
But most of them were elderly grandpas and grandmas. Perhaps they hadn't mastered the art of cooking, but after decades of experience, they could at least tell their seasonings apart.
Sitting on the sofa, Fu Qian confirmed with a single stretch that no one had made that kind of rookie mistake.
Satisfied, he did nothing more. He simply activated his mark and returned.
Then came another double jump, mask on.
He had to admit, the more he used this "Za Warudo" trick, the more profound it seemed.
When he reappeared in Miss Wen's mansion, the surroundings were still quiet.
Though the scene before him was rather hard on the eyes.
Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of crescent-shaped arcs suffused with pure energy traced beautiful paths through the air, all ultimately plunging toward Chief Yuan.
Fortunately, the latter was clearly good at taking advice—like the suggestion to focus entirely on defense.
At that moment, the sphere woven from overlapping black bands was even larger than when he'd left, without a single gap.
At a glance, she really had poured everything into defense. She hadn't even summoned that whip to counterattack.
So even as an astonishing number of arcs slammed and tore at her from every direction, they merely dotted their target like black sesame balls dipped