The old, mottled adobe walls clung to the side of the pristine two-story building, shaking violently as though they were in the midst of an earthquake. The heavy, russet-colored tiles on the rooftop trembled as if they might fall off at any moment.
He Qing sprinted outside, one hand brandishing a sword, the other maintaining the Spiritual Power Lock tightly around the still unconscious village chief, frantically trying to escape. But the moment her feet hit the courtyard, the kitchen's beam let out a severe "crack" without the slightest respite and came crashing down.
For a moment, the entire courtyard shook violently, the tremors surging beneath He Qing's feet, making her squint involitively against the yellow dust and dirt swirling in the air.
At that moment, Feng Cheng had long abandoned his wheelchair. Although his legs were still unsteady, he moved towards the gate with surprising speed.
Or rather, he ran.
