Dressed as an abandoned daughter of a wealthy family, she relies on metaphysics to become a god

The surface color of the worm is waxy yellow with dark brown patterns all over its body. Its head is very strange, like a "big" character, and its entire body seems to have no end in sight.

Although Chu Yao couldn't hear the sound, he could still feel that the worm was wailing and twisting its body.

However, no matter how large its movements were, it never moved an inch, as if it was nailed directly to the ground.

Its pain makes people just look at it for a few seconds, and they will be swallowed up by the pain. Even Chu Yao cannot hold on for a long time.

She hurriedly withdrew her eyes, a layer of cold sweat already forming on her forehead.

She didn't want to experience that kind of unspeakable pain again. It was not as simple as physical pain, but like recalling the most painful past event in her life, accompanied by a twitching sensation in her nerves.

Chu Yao slowly walked towards the table. She needed to rest for a while to sort out what she had just seen.

And suddenly there was a piece of paper on the table. It was obviously a different color from the one she tore out from the notebook. There was only a line of concern on it.

"Are you ok?"

Chu Yao picked up the pen and was surprised to find that his current situation might be worse than imagined.

Something as simple as writing made her wrists tremble.

She originally wanted to hide it from the others, because they were separated in different time and space, and they could not help her and would worry about her.

But looking at her crooked handwriting, she seemed a bit unable to hide it.

"It's okay, I'm just a little tired. Why do you ask?"

Professor Xia also asked curiously: "Yes, how do you know she is not feeling well?"

"I... don't know, but I just have a feeling." Ling Feng murmured, "It's strange, I never make judgments based on feelings."

For a moment, a scene appeared in his mind out of thin air.

He saw that Chu Yao was in the same room as them, but her color was lighter than theirs.

Her eyes were closed tightly, and no matter how suppressed she was, she could still see the pain on her face.

Ling Feng had never seen her make such an expression before. Even when she was seriously injured before, she always looked calm and calm.

"Is this the sixth sense? Are people like you born with a stronger sixth sense?" Professor Xia guessed.

"No, I don't have a 'sixth sense'."

This sounds strange, but to Ling Feng, it is true.

In the Secret Service, there is a popular game called shooting.

The rules of the game are very simple. Use a bowl to hold an object so that people cannot see what it looks like, and then use divination to guess.

If you are a person with a relatively sensitive sixth sense, you can guess its shape, size, color and use without any means.

Ling Feng tried several times, but he was completely clueless. Every time he got the wrong answer, he could even guess the opposite color.

"That's strange. Since your sixth sense is very poor, why do you have premonitions?" Professor Xia touched his chin, "But, it's not important. Look, there is another note on the table. I I guess it was written by that boy Zhou Weiqi."

His words successfully diverted Ling Feng's attention, and Ling Feng did not delve into the issue.

The moment he picked up the note, Ling Feng felt that it was not written by Zhou Weiqi.