Ever since Qingyi had fully transformed into a dragon, assimilating one hundred percent of his bloodline, his senses had grown infinitely superior to those of any ordinary human.
He could detect the tiniest vibrations in the air, from the fluttering of a distant fly's wings to the tinkling of a glass plate shattering kilometers away.
As he adjusted his senses, beyond the soft sound of his own footsteps on the trail and the singing of the birds around him, something else reached him.
A woman's voice.
He stopped abruptly, closing his eyes to concentrate.
It was a soft humming, without words—just elegant, symphonic notes, as if her lips themselves were a musical instrument.
He quickened his pace, and the voice grew louder and clearer, caressing his eardrums with an almost intoxicating delicacy.
"It doesn't seem to be a mental attack…" Qingyi murmured to himself, his eyes narrowing slightly.
