A moment later, he pushed Shen Wu's gate open and gazed at the refreshing garden before the whispers coming from the pavilion drew his attention.
Under its shade, Mei Lan massaged the scar running from Shen Wu's thigh to his left shin. Each time her oiled fingers touched its putrefying color, the elder's lips twisted to let out a grunt, prompting the question in Adam's mind: how could he walk with such an unhealed wound?
He didn't know, but his jaws clenched as he covered Misha's eyes to spare her from the disturbing spectacle.
Yet, this silent movement caused Shen Wu's head to snap in their direction. Simultaneously, his hand slapped his robe above his leg, hiding it from his disciples' sight.
Mei Lan's fingers froze, too, as she gazed at him, her voice a low whisper.
"I should have been more cautious... I'm sorry, Shen." She bit her old quivering lip. "You finally found talented disciples..."
