Shen Yuxi meditated through the night. By the time the sky beyond the window was poised between darkness and dawn, morning mist had begun to gather. He slowly opened his eyes, his spiritual platform clear and his aura perfectly harmonious. Then he noticed the warm weight in his arms.
Looking down, he found that, sure enough—at some unknown point, Ye Xi had slipped in again, sleeping soundly against his thigh, his chest rising and falling faintly with each breath.
Shen Yuxi had long since ceased to find it strange. Although Teng Zisu had solemnly promised to keep an eye on the child, Ye Xi's passive ability was hardly something that could be contained just because someone said so. His power to cross dimensions and transcend space was simply too peculiar and tyrannical. The moment one let down one's guard, the little fellow would go "whoosh" and appear at Shen Yuxi's side.
Ever since the Hundred Sects Tournament began, this had happened about once every two or three days, with an exasperatingly steady frequency. At first, Shen Yuxi had been surprised and tried to send him back. By now, he was used to it. If life refused to indulge you, then all you could do was adapt to it.
Because of this, in just these few days, the number of times he had met Teng Zisu and handed over the child probably exceeded the combined number of times he had seen certain fellow disciples from Profound Heaven Sect who spent years in seclusion or traveling abroad.
At first, Teng Zisu had looked deeply apologetic. Whenever he came to retrieve Ye Xi, he looked as though he had caused Shen Yuxi some heaven-shattering trouble, his words earnest and his posture exceedingly humble.
But the occurrences were too frequent, and Shen Yuxi himself