"So if we start now, what are the odds of success?"
A sudden complication, a massive fluctuation in energy—Qin Ling knew the odds of success had surely dropped.
He wanted to know what the odds would be if they proceeded with the original plan now…
"Thirty percent."
The Sect Leader sighed. With the drastic change in the energy within Tang Mo's sea of consciousness, the success rate would only continue to drop.
Qin Ling said nothing, gripping Tang Mo's hand, the one whose fingers had just twitched.
'Momo just moved. What was she trying to say?'
Qin Ling knew Tang Mo could definitely hear them. She had struggled to move her finger, and it must have been to tell him something.
His large hand enveloped her small one. Both were slightly rough, covered in the faded scars of healed wounds—the marks of their battles.
'Momo, what on earth are you trying to tell me?'
