Pei Ye merely witnessed all of this; his brain had not yet begun to process the illogical scene.
But no matter how his thoughts spun, his feelings still reached him faithfully, and the cold touch of the blade had already pressed against the skin of his neck.
He saw the face beneath the Vermilion Robes, eyes, lips, and nose, clear yet rough. The fresh, fierce scent of blood dominated his taste.
When time is cut short enough, it creates a world that seems nearly still, raindrops suspended in the air, and sounds cease to transmit.
No one reacted at this moment. Zhu Gaoyang had leaped from his horse in the previous instant, intending to help on the river; his right arm reached out, as if to pull the young man beside him up. Even the Black Cat made no sound.
Only the smile before him seemed like an unrestrained shadow in time, unfolding as Pei Ye sensed the cold and pain at his neck.
A broad hand rested on his shoulder from behind.
