Night fell like a blanket of cold steel. The once scorching desert now bit at Zhou Chen with icy wind. The faint glow of spiritual fire flickered within their small camp, lighting the rough circle of faces that surrounded the cooking pot. Zhou Chen sat silently beside Lin Bao, his gourd at his side and his eyes half-closed.
After the battle with the Spirit Sand Serpent, Lin Bao had, in his typical cheerful fashion, insisted Zhou Chen take the Yin soul shard they had obtained. The group had a few already, and Lin Bao said it was fair compensation. Zhou Chen hadn’t refused. But that small gesture of goodwill had become a c***k in the group’s harmony.
The others didn’t like it.
Now, even the crackling of the fire couldn’t drown out the whispers.
“Doesn’t look like much to me,” one of them
