In the kitchen, the morning sunlight streamed through the window, casting light on two figures,
One stood at the counter, eyes lowered, gazing at the freshly washed rice, while crystalline droplets still clung to her fingers.
The other leaned against the table holding a cup of water, brows furrowed, seemingly deep in thought.
The room was briefly silent for a few seconds, the only sound being the monotone ticking of the wall clock.
Lin Chuqiao took a deep breath, as if trying to calm her heavy emotions.
"Although I can't see the vision clearly, according to my prediction, this is most likely an extremely ominous sign."
"It suggests that Fang Cheng will face nine deaths and one life, about to be engulfed in darkness with only the last sliver of light, a thread of vitality remaining."
After speaking, she stopped what she was doing and turned to look at the person by the table.
"In this kind of situation..."
