Lu Jianheng was performing frantic, incredibly precise acrobatic leaps, using his flimsy bamboo stick to perfectly parry diving wasps, his aristocratic face covered in sweat and bug-ichor.
Wen Shiru was sprinting back and forth with the heavy yoke, his breath coming in ragged, wheezing gasps, his glasses completely fogged over. Fairy Xue and the maidens were crying softly as their thighs burned with the fire of a thousand suns, executing perfect, torturous lunges through the valley.
And Lin Ji'an?
Ji'an was sitting comfortably cross-legged on her floating palm-leaf yacht, which was currently being gently towed by Shen Zechuan, who was happily holding the tow-rope with one hand while whistling a jaunty tune.
She was sipping a cup of chilled jasmine tea, entirely unbothered by the humidity.
"It's called physical equity, Elder," Ji'an smirked, taking a sip of her tea. "You have to break the foundation to pour new concrete. They'll thank me later."
***
