Xia Fang let out another embittered sigh, her hand subconsciously brushing over the amulet hidden beneath the layers of her inner robe and outer coat.
Yang Qing had noticed her doing that several times now. Occasionally, one of her hands would drift to her chest, softly patting the concealed object before pulling away. Her actions were like that of someone checking to confirm something was still there or seeking reassurance from it.
Though he couldn't see what she was touching which he could have had he chosen to sweep over her with his spiritual sense but chose against—he could tell that whatever it was likely held deep significance for her. It seemed like an anchor or a refuge for her of some sort.
"Pheasant's reflection into the natural flow? What's that? Her cultivation art or something else?" Yang Qing silently wondered.