The white-haired youth had, by taking advantage of the museum's wobbling, about-to-collapse grand formation, silently embedded a magic rune into Chen Xiyuan's body.
Li Zhuiyuan had been busy pacing out the grid and paving an escape route for Chen Xiyuan.
He only discovered the rune later, when he checked her body.
No matter how stealthy the white-haired youth had been, one person could not be fooled — Zhao Yi.
The museum's grand formation had been laid by Zhao Yi himself; he held the array's core.
So Li Zhuiyuan knew: tonight, Zhao Yi would definitely follow.
How he would follow, what tricks he'd use — whether bargaining of interests, heartfelt confession, or riding on the power of a little faction — none of that mattered.
Zhao Yi knew he had stepped in to save Chen Xiyuan, and he had seen with his own eyes that she had been taken away in the arms of that youth.
If he didn't come tonight, then all the past tacit understanding and trust would be wiped clean.
You ride the same wave, you stand in the same city — if you learn the other side is in danger and do nothing, what use are you?
Even if you know a young man can resolve the danger, if you don't show up that's an attitude problem.
When Zhao Yi appeared, just as expected, the identity of this night's "ambush" inverted.