Ling acted without hesitation, unleashing a stream of Fate Qi through Xuefeng's crushed organs, knitting them together as though mending a torn tapestry. She worked with the precision of a master surgeon—faster than thought. It was a good thing Xiao Wen had relied on brute force alone; if she'd channeled her Spirit Qi in that punch, Xuefeng's injuries might have been beyond repair.
Xuefeng shakily rose to his feet, still feeling the lingering echo of pain where his ribs had cracked moments before. He caught a glimpse of Xiao Wen—her face still glowing red as she stared at his now hastily covered manhood. Embarrassment fluttered around them both like jittery moths around a flame. Summoning his Spirit Armor, Xuefeng encased himself in the translucent sheen of protection. He forced the memory of that mortifying instant from his mind, reminding himself that this woman—this near-duplicate of Tianshi—could not possibly be the same person.
