First Peak, the eighteenth layer.
Cave dwelling number fifty-six.
After Han Ting returned, she sat on an identical wooden chair, staring blankly at the rock ceiling above her.
The layout of this cave dwelling was almost exactly the same as Pang Jian's above.
She knew that in the cave dwelling above her, Pang Jian might be sitting on the same wooden chair she had occupied, or possibly above the meditation cushion, and he should still be holding the token she had left behind in his hand.
Han Ting's thoughts were in disarray.
Touching her slightly feverish cheeks, she couldn't help but recall the sensation of that cold and hard young man's finger resting on her shoulder.
Even though, in her haste, she had actively stripped off her clothing to wrap around her chest, revealing her smooth back... that man's finger hadn't moved an inch.
The indifferent young man did not touch the injured area on her back with his finger or palm, nor did he touch any other area of her back.
