In such a place, even a needle falling would sound as loud as breaking glass, let alone footsteps.
In the deathly silent confinement room, Ji Minghuan woke from sleep, lying motionless on the bed, his faint snoring continuing.
He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the slender figure in the darkness.
The Mentor's footsteps were getting closer, the hem of his long coat rustling as it swept across the floor.
This wasn't the first time the Mentor had suddenly paid a visit; it had happened many times before.
Like Kong Youling, the Mentor was a psychic superpower user.
Perhaps because a person's Spirit is weakest when they are dreaming, he always wanted to silently enter Ji Minghuan's Spirit while he was asleep, seeking some kind of answer.
This time was no different.
The Mentor stood with hands behind his back, pausing by the bedside, silently standing in the dark, a pair of slender eyes behind reflective lenses, observing Ji Minghuan's sleeping face.
