The Serpent Scale Soarer was not a grand vessel. It was a sleek, ten-foot-long artifact of black, shimmering scales, designed for speed and agility, not comfort. There were no cabins, no separate quarters, just a single, open deck where the four of them sat in close proximity, the wind of their passage whipping at their hair and robes. This enforced closeness created an atmosphere of intense, unavoidable intimacy, a crucible for the secrets and tensions that simmered between them.
They flew for hours in a relative silence, the only sound the rush of the wind and the faint, powerful hum of the artifact's spiritual core. Yue Lingshan sat close to Wang Jian, her hand resting on his knee, a quiet, possessive gesture. Chen Ying sat apart, a statue of icy indifference, though her sharp, intelligent eyes missed nothing.
And Liu Ruyan… Liu Ruyan was a storm of inner turmoil.
