On the shore, Luo Yan held the oil-paper packet Yu Xing had tossed him, feeling so busy he wished he had two more arms.
After those curse-laden tentacles dragged away more than half the group, only four people remained on shore. He had to keep the formation stable and had also been assigned by Yu Xing to "control" the extremely Yin wraiths. On top of that, his injuries hadn't healed. For a moment, he almost felt like shutting his eyes and diving in with the others.
Of course, it was only a thought.
Although he had been underwater before, right now the shore needed him more. Yu Xing hadn't given him the oil-paper packet because they were closest; it was because the spells Luo Yan had learned since childhood would help him quickly figure out the limits of his control, making him the most efficient choice.
Fortunately, Ren Yi no longer needed to restrain the wealthy men with blood writing. The versatile, stone-faced powerhouse had a free hand. He slashed his arm with a knife, and fresh blood poured out in a rush. He wrote a spell to subdue ghosts in the air, then firmly imprinted it on the invisible boundary of the formation, easing Luo Yan's burden considerably.
Zhao Ruru wailed, "This is too much! At least leave Brother Zhao Mou behind! How are a bunch of bookish weaklings supposed to face a flood—"
Ren Yi solemnly reminded her, "Zhao Mou is a bookish weakling too." At least, he was a little more delicate than Ren Yi.
Quinn, who was anything but weak and bookish, said nothing.
Haha, how interesting. Is this the humility you Chinese people are so famous for? Oh, right—I almost forgot. I'm a Chinese citizen now too.
Quinn had been about to argue, but silently