Poke. Poke.
Bai Yue stood at the edge of the platform, holding a long, relatively straight branch, gently jabbing the unconscious Dragon Prince in the cheek.
Cāng Jì lay flat on his back, his arms splayed out, perfectly motionless.
"Is he dead?" Hóu Xián asked, hanging upside down from a vine right next to Bai Yue's ear. "If he is dead, do we get to keep his boots? They look very shiny."
"He is not dead," Hóu Wáng grunted, leaning on his walking stick. "Dragons don't die from embarrassment. Though, given the day he has had, his pride might be fatally wounded."
Poke. "Come on, sparkles," Bai Yue muttered. "Wake up. The stone is gone, but we can figure this out. Probably. Maybe. Just don't incinerate me when you open your eyes."
Cāng Jì's golden eyelashes fluttered.
