But amidst this sea of suffering, two figures moved with a rhythm that defied common sense.
"Ninety-nine bottles of Spirit Wine on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of wine..." Lin Ji'an sang, her voice slightly breathless but remarkably steady. She took another step, planting her boot firmly on the mossy stone.
Behind her, Xie Wangchen followed. He wasn't singing, but his breathing was a controlled, rhythmic hiss. Sweat slicked his black hair back from his forehead, revealing the sharp, determined lines of his face.
His clothes were soaked through, clinging to the new muscle definition he had built over the last few weeks of Ji'an's "Hell Kitchen" training regime.
Ji'an glanced back. "You okay, Little Puddle? If your legs are jelly, I can tow you. I have a rope."
Wangchen looked up, wiping sweat from his eyes. A bead of perspiration rolled down his jawline, catching the sunlight.
"I am fine, Young Master," he gritted out. "The pressure... is alright. It tempers the bones."
