Zhou Mei's Crisis

Xue Mao stretched lazily, his snowy fur glistening as it caught the waning sunlight filtering through the dense canopy above.

The faint warmth of the fading day seemed to seep into his sleek coat, and he gave a low, rumbling purr of contentment.

With a graceful leap, he landed on Xiao Ming's shoulder, his sharp, feline eyes scanning the surroundings with an almost predatory focus.

The forest was alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant bird calls, but beneath it all, an undercurrent of tension lingered.

"We should move soon," Xiao Ming murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze flickered with a strange glint, a mix of anticipation and caution. "The tomb gates won't wait for us. I can sense the excitement even from here, like a distant drumbeat calling us forward."

The trio—Xiao Ming, Qin Ye, and Xue Mao—set off shortly after, their footsteps crunching softly against the forest floor.