Hong Mei's ears twitched when she heard Qiuan Yu's feminine voice. She moved away from Chen Wuji, who stood there with a blank look on his face. The sudden hug from the woman crashed his high-level spirit and mind, making him unable to think or speak anything.
Right before their eyes, Wuhan threw the lotus in the air; it drifted towards XingJian, and once it appeared beside the prism that had just finished tearing her soul apart, it tilted and let the drop of magical liquid inside fall on the spectral figure of the woman.
The drop fell like a tear from the heavens.
It touched the writhing soul.
Drip.
As the Dew of Soul Rebirth seeped into XingJian's fractured essence, a soft chime echoed through the hall.
Gentle waves of pale-blue light radiated from her soul, washing over the chamber like calm tides smoothing a storm-battered shore.
The tendrils of pain were all sucked into the prism; the soul body that had fallen into a dormant state stirred once more.
