Han Jiaojiao went to the terrace and lingered there for a while. As the sun set, the temperature dropped, and the few little ones on the terrace soon fell into a deep sleep.
To say they were sleeping, they were actually curled up in a ball, motionless.
Seeing that they were all asleep, Han Jiaojiao went downstairs and returned to her own room.
Han Yi sat on the edge of the bed with his eyes closed, beads of sweat faintly visible on his forehead. Han Jiaojiao knew that he must be practicing his spiritual power.
It was unclear whether it was because his strength was already so great that progressing further was even more difficult, but especially since he had absorbed the Crystal Cores of over a hundred Psychic Type macaques, this had become particularly pronounced—every time he finished practicing, he would be drenched in sweat as if he had been through a fierce battle.
