Wang Chen's eyes widened—just slightly—and for the first time in countless years, a genuine trace of relief washed over his expression. His shoulders loosened, tension bleeding away as if a mountain had been lifted from his spine.
A study- and knowledge-oriented class.
Not brute force.
Not blind slaughter.
But comprehension, analysis, and insight.
Exactly what he needed.
"Finally…" he whispered hoarsely, the words escaping before he could stop them.
"…something in my favor. All hope isn't lost yet."
The frozen air rippled.
A familiar presence emerged beside him, graceful and silent, like mist coalescing into form. Mo Huyan stepped into existence, her dark robes fluttering faintly despite the absence of wind. Her eyes curved with quiet amusement as she studied his rare display of emotion.
"Little cultivator," she said lightly, her voice carrying an uncharacteristic warmth,
"why are you smiling?"
She tilted her head, observing him with interest.
