Heavy silence smothered the dark campsite, broken only by the loud sound of Song Tianyu snoring like a dying boar.
Inside his tent, Gu Fan lay flat on his bedroll, his hands casually resting behind his head while his eyes were closed, but his spiritual sense was flaring, already tracking the stealthy presence creeping right outside his tent.
Sudenly a razor-sharp slit appeared in the cloth of the tent, allowing a thin sliver of pale moonlight to spill inside.
Gu Fan didn't move a single muscle, but he circulated a concentrated thread of his Purple Nether-Ghost Fire into his right palm, ready to melt whatever or whoever stepped through that flap into a puddle of bubbling sludge.
But instead of a poisoned blade or a masked killer, a tiny, fluffy, pure-white paw poked through the narrow gap.
