When the drumstick was a few centimeters above the table, it shimmered once more and morphed into a feather. A violet feather with faint sparkles of starlight shimmering on its lustrous surface.
Yang Qing inwardly breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the feather. He immediately regained control of his body and booted out Feng Xin's mutinous spirit.
He couldn't help but thank his lucky stars that the coin had managed to respond to his muffled, desperate plea, smothered as it had been beneath Feng Xin's beguiling voice. His last attempt at salvaging the moment had been to imagine the one bird in this entire world he wouldn't dare eat.
Shitong, you really saved my skin there, Yang Qing thought, trying to calm himself as he looked at the violet feather with a mixture of fright, relief, and the tiniest twinge of regret.
