The next morning, Yang Zhen, feeling invigorated, set out from White Cloud Mountain toward the Westernmost Land with Han Yan'er and the scoundrel of a cat in tow.
Along the way, Han Yan'er didn't say a word and occasionally glared at Yang Zhen with big, round eyes, puzzling him to no end.
When a woman starts acting inexplicably, it's best not to provoke her. This was a survival instinct Yang Zhen had cultivated over many years. So each time Han Yan'er glared at him, Yang Zhen simply grinned, and after a while, her glaring turned into rolling her eyes.
Well, that was settled then. Yang Zhen secretly breathed a sigh of relief, his grin growing even more brilliant.
As for the damn cat, it seemed rather excited, lying on Yang Zhen's shoulder and incessantly talking about the Great Desolation world. After a while, even Han Yan'er listened with interest.
