The green cutting qi of the bronze flying sword sheared through the air with an ear-splitting whistle.
It was less than three inches from sixteen-year-old Xiao Fan’s sternum. The boy squeezed his eyes shut, his arms locked tight around Lin Wan’er, waiting for the cold iron to tear through his flesh.
ZAP!
A flash of golden light brighter than a supernova illuminated the entire sky above Lotus-Prince Street.
There was no sound of tearing cloth. There was no splatter of blood.
Instead, a sharp, ringing metallic chime echoed through the clouds:
CLINK.
Xiao Fan opened his eyes, trembling from head to toe.
