After the crowd slowly dispersed, the murmurs dying down, Ruan Ji thanked the Club President for the help and continued on her way.
But her mind wasn't calm.
She replayed the moment the ball had left Mo Chen's hands in slow motion within her mind's eye. That curved trajectory. That strange weight. That pressure in the air is a split second before impact.
And the faint, barely-there pulse she had felt when her elbow made contact.
It had been a whisper. So faint that even a normal cultivator might not have noticed.
But Ruan Ji was no ordinary cultivator. She had reached the late Golden Core stage before her previous life ended. Her senses were honed to the edge of intuition.
That ball had spiritual energy embedded in it.
Was it a coincidence?
She doubted it.
Her brow furrowed as her wheelchair moved silently through the garden path. The wind brushed her cheeks, cherry blossoms fluttering down like confetti.
