"Snap."
The colored pencil in her hand broke, emitting a crisp sound.
The starlight in Lin Chuqiao's eyes instantly withdrew, returning to their original stark black and white distinction.
She ignored the paint stains on her hands, staring intently at the freshly completed painting on the table, her face looking somewhat pale.
This was the thing she insisted on doing every day—to divine fortune and calamity for Fang Cheng.
Ever since learning about the threat posed by the "Ideal Land," especially the existence of that mysterious leader, the tension in her heart never loosened.
No matter how confident Fang Cheng appeared, she couldn't truly be at ease.
So every morning after waking up, she would use her predictive ability as part of her routine.
Even if just capturing a glimpse of the future, it could serve as an early warning, giving Fang Cheng more preparation.
But previous images were often vague, or just trivial fragments of daily life.
But today's painting...
