'Boy… when will you leave? This is getting awkward…' the old man finally muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of discomfort and subtle irritation.
His soul shifted where he stood, clearly agitated, his fingers twitching like he was warding off a bad omen.
"…" Lin Fan didn't move at first.
He looked over, just once, hoping—praying—to catch even the faintest glimpse of her:
The Saintess.
Her silhouette through the windows…
A flash of her robe…
A whisper of her divine presence…
Anything.
But the wind offered no such mercy.
The windows remained shuttered, and the only sound was the creaking of sacred bamboo swaying gently in the air.
"…Fine," Lin Fan muttered at last, his voice low and bitter:
"I'll leave."
'Thank the Heavens…' the old man felt some joy come back to him.
Lin Fan turned slowly, shoulders slack, each step away from the sanctum heavier than the last.
His usual grin was absent, replaced by a half-hearted scowl of disappointment.
