The familiar, clear voice reached Zhao Ling's ears, snapping her back to her senses. Only when she looked again did she realize that Xie Jinhuan had caught her wrist and pinned her to the ground, holding her utterly immobile.
Meanwhile, Xie Jinhuan had once again kept the surrounding fog more than ten feet away.
Realizing that what she had just seen was an illusion, Zhao Ling broke into a cold sweat. She quickly rose and looked around.
"What just happened?"
"Someone over there used a soul-disrupting curse. Hurry over."
As Xie Jinhuan spoke, he raced at full speed to reinforce the other side of the ridge.
Neither side beyond the ridge had lingered to fight. It had ended after a single exchange.
Before Xie Jinhuan could charge out of the sea of fog, he saw the surrounding mist disperse. Bu Yuehua stood on the ridge with her saber, rubbing the space between her brows. Her old injury seemed to be hampering her, but she had suffered no bodily injury. He breathed a sigh of relief and went up to ask:
"Are they still here?"
"They escaped when their sneak attack failed. But one's badly hurt and the other lightly wounded. My blade was poisoned, so I can track them."
As Bu Yuehua spoke, she noticed a little damage to the clothing over Xie Jinhuan's chest, exposing the Soft Armor beneath. Her brows knitted.
"How did you get hurt?"
Zhao Ling had been wondering which of Xie Jinhuan's confidantes this hooded woman was, with her full breasts, rounded hips, fair skin, beautiful face, and swaying grace. At those words, she frowned and examined him.
Finding his clothes torn over his chest, clearly from the punches she had thrown while confused, Zhao Ling's eyes filled with embarrassment.
"How badly are you hurt?