Zhuang Jing quickly covered Yan Hanxiang's eyes with her hand. Yan Hanxiang didn't resist because it was already too late.
In Gu Ran's puzzled gaze, incense emerged from Yan Hanxiang's shadow, the shadow turning into a thin line connecting the incense to Yan Hanxiang.
About seven or eight centimeters long, less than one centimeter wide, perhaps not even half a centimeter; that delicate, almost like the thin line formed from the shadow.
"Weren't we supposed to go everywhere together?" Yan Hanxiang removed Zhuang Jing's hand, holding it in her own, her face adorned with a pleasant smile.
It was like going on a trip: if a friend fell into water in public, she would jump in after them.
Foolish.
Zhuang Jing watched her for a while and could only helplessly smile.
"What about you?" Yan Hanxiang's expression turned cold as she looked at Gu Ran, "How dare you not accompany us?"